When I Come Home
by Elwen
Summary: Frodo's journey to the West - Warning - Dark themes *FINISHED*
1. Default Chapter

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I do not own the characters places or main events of this tale. They all belong to JRR Tolkien his heirs and anyone else with a finger in the Lord of the Rings pie, and they may never forgive me for what I have done this time.

For those of a squeamish nature please note that this story follows Frodo on his journey to the Undying Lands. I do not agree with giving away story endings but neither do I wish to be flamed so I will give you a very broad hint . . . I am **NOT** following canon. The tale has a rather dark, but I hope sensitive, ending and is intended as an exploration, not as an indication of how I would wish the original work to end. I am quite happy with the master's ending and am only giving in to the nibbling of a persistent little plot bunny.

The main core of this story is based around role-plays between Elwen and FrodoBagginsOfBagEnd and I give Febobe full credit for her input to Frodo's characterisation and reactions. 

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WHEN I COME HOME

CHAPTER 1 – Whispers of a nameless fear.

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Many thanks to Febobe for the tray-setting training. For those of you interested in such details . . . this chapter is not based upon a role-play.

At the sound of a whispered conversation outside his door Frodo turned from the window and his contemplation of the early evening stars beyond, sitting down wearily at his desk. It was a little past nine o'clock but his body insisted that it was much later, begging for the comfort of his bed. Frodo would not give in to it, however. Sleep brought troubles of it's own nowadays.

He could not make out the words of the conversation in the hallway but it appeared to be an argument, which was such an unusual event that he set himself to listen harder. However it stopped, and he heard Sam's steady footfalls heading off towards the parlour, followed by a light tap at the study door.

"Come in, Rosie."

The door swung open and the rattle of crockery preceded the entry of Sam's pretty wife. She carried a large cloth covered tray and Frodo quickly made room for it on the corner of his desk. Rosie set it down gratefully and tweaked aside the cloth, standing folding it as she watched Frodo's eyes widen. It was crammed with dishes.

There were small triangular ham sandwiches marching on their ends down the centre of a plate, flanked by fresh washed watercress. On another plate was a slice of cold game pie and next to that a hard-boiled egg had been quartered, dressed in a fine white sauce and sprinkled with grated cheese. Brown bread and butter, cut into fingers was arranged around a little dish of purple skinned radishes and a bowl of finely chopped tomato and onion, in a liquor of vinegar and sugar. A slice of rich fruit cake shared a small plate with a cube of crumbly white cheese and next to that was a dish of quartered apples and pears in a light syrup, dressed with a dab of smooth creamy custard. Finally, there was a pot of tea with a jug of fresh milk, and a small dish of honey.

"You didn't eat much at dinner so I've brought you a bite of supper."

Frodo forced a light laugh. "You made a lovely dinner, Rosie and I ate my fill. I'm not sure I shall do justice to such a lovely spread as this."

Rosie tucked the folded cloth into the waistband of her apron and put her hands upon her hips. "You may have eaten your fill, Frodo Baggins, but it wasn't the fill of a grown hobbit . . . more like that of a sparrow . . . and don't you try to deny it."

Frodo sat back in his chair, surprised at her harsh words. Rosie had never spoken to him like this. He was actually too taken aback to even think to deny it and she pressed her advantage.

"You may have fooled Sam with your pushing of a small bit of food around your plate and bright conversation to try and distract us. But I know what goes into those tureens before they reach the table, I know how much me and Sam eat, and I see what comes back to my kitchen. You hardly eat enough to keep body and soul together."

Frodo finally gathered his wits. "I'm sorry Rosie. I'm just a little under the weather of late. I didn't intend to worry you."

"Under the weather of late?" Rosie folded her arms. "It's been longer than, "of late". Sam and me have noticed that your walks have got shorter and shorter over these last months. You don't even go down into Hobbiton any more . . . ever since that day a couple of months ago when Sam found you pale and sweating in the hall, after you'd been out to the bakers." When Frodo's eyebrows shot up in surprise she nodded. "Oh yes, he told me. We don't have no secrets from each other. It's difficult to keep secrets when you're living under the same roof and I'm afraid you don't have many secrets from us.

For instance . . . you've been wearing that baggy old tweed jacket all through the summer. It hides your shape from most people but I know how thin you are under it. And you've been getting thinner. You're sick, Mr Frodo. That's why you're going to Rivendell. You don't think the doctors in the Shire can help you and you're going to see that elf . . . that Master Whatsisname."

"Elrond," Frodo supplied quietly.

"That's him." Rosie unfolded her arms and stepped closer to the desk, her voice softening. "I don't mind that you're going. And I'm glad that you're taking my Sam to look after you. But are you strong enough for such a long journey if you can't even make it into Hobbiton? It will kill my Sam if you . . . if you . . . you know." Her words petered out.

Frodo closed his eyes and thought for a moment before trying to reply. "It seems there's no fooling you two. I'm sorry that I've worried you." He straightened the cushion in the small of his back. "You're right. I am going to see Lord Elrond because I'm ill. I'm very ill Rosie and I'm getting worse, but I think I can make it to my destination and we will be using the ponies." He smiled, trying to lighten his words. " Strider and Bill need another outing . . . they're getting too fat and lazy."

Rosie's face softened. "I'm sorry to go on so, but I was worried and . . . and I wanted you to know that we cared. Sam said it wasn't our place to speak up but I disagreed. You don't have Mr Bilbo no more and it ain't right for someone to be alone, especially when they're not well. I just wanted you to know that you only have to ask and I'll do whatever I can to ease you. Sam will, that goes without saying, but I've come to be very fond of you too, and I want you to know that I'll help in whatever way I can."

Frodo sighed with relief. "Oh Rosie. Thank you. It's been so hard trying to put a brave face on it. But you have a baby to care for and I didn't want to burden you with my troubles."

"Bless you, Mr Frodo. You're not a trouble. You're the sweetest, kindest hobbit that I've ever met, apart from my Sam of course." Rosie wiped her hands on her apron. "Now we've got that all said and understood . . . is there anything you want that isn't on that tray. Just say the word and I'll get it for you. And don't you worry about finishing it. I'll not press . . . but please try a little."

"Just for you, Rosie. And I can't think of anything else that I would rather have to eat. I'll try a little."

"Right then. I'll leave you to it and your writing." With that Rosie turned to leave. Just as she reached the door Frodo's gentle voice fell on her ears.

"Sam's a very lucky hobbit to have you, Rosie. You make him whole."

Rosie turned. "No more than he makes me, sir." And with that she left, closing the study door quietly behind her.

Frodo leaned back in his chair once more. His decision to leave had been correct. He could not blight their lives any longer. He felt so weary and yet he could not sleep for his dreams were dark, leaving him whimpering and sweating more often than not. Sometimes he had even screamed, waking little Elanor, and Sam had to come running to comfort him while Rosie saw to their child. 

He had to go. What sort of a life would Elanor have with him in the house? He would grow weaker and weaker, taking up more of Sam and Rosie's time. The poor child would be forever shushed because Uncle Frodo was resting or not feeling well. No. He must leave now. But had he left it too late? He hoped Rosie's fear did not come true.

TBC.


	2. Shadows of the Past

CHAPTER 2 – Shadows of the Past

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For those interested in the writing process this chapter is not based upon a role play but does contain direct quotes or slightly paraphrased quotes from Return of the King.

"Happy birthday, Mr Frodo. I just realised – we've been riding all day and I haven't wished you a happy birthday."

"Thank you, Sam. I wish I had brought a present for you but I'm afraid in all the hurry to be gone I forgot all about it. Isn't if funny how you plan for weeks and then, suddenly you get to the day of travelling and find that there's half a dozen jobs you haven't got time for?" Frodo pulled his cloak closer, beginning to feel the chill of the autumn night pull in around them.

"Why, bless you, Mr Frodo. I thought this was my present and if it isn't then it will suit me fine as one. To be out riding with you again to see dear old Mr Bilbo and all those elves . . . and to visit Rivendell without any cloud hanging over us . . . that's present enough for me."

Frodo leaned forward to pat Strider's neck, feeling rather guilty. He had wanted to tell Sam that they would not be going to Rivendell but he did not know how to break the news of his impending departure. And now he could not bring himself to spoil his friend's happy mood. Suddenly, Sam brought Bill to a halt and, riding just behind him, Frodo was forced to rein in Strider sharply, causing the pony to give a little whicker of concern. So excited was Sam that he did not notice and Frodo leaned forward and patted the pony's neck once more to calm him.

"If that isn't the very tree you hid behind when the Black Rider first showed up, Mr Frodo!" said Sam, pointing to the left. "It seems like a dream now."

A chill descended on Frodo's heart as his eyes followed Sam's finger to the age blasted oak. Not so much a dream but a nightmare, and one that still haunted him. Sam started forward once more and Frodo was obliged to follow, although the chill grew and his left shoulder began to ache awfully, with each step that took him closer to the memory of his first encounter with the Ring Wraith. He began to wish that they had cut across country and avoided this place, but he had felt too weak to do so. Now Frodo was not so sure whether he would have managed better travelling that way after all. 

Sam began to draw further ahead. The younger hobbit's pony had travelled several steps beyond the tree when, realising that he was alone, he turned around, and his eyes widening in horror at what he saw. "Mr Frodo! Are you alright?"

Frodo did not hear him however, for at that moment he drew level with the tree. He cringed, moaning as his right hand went up to clutch at his left shoulder. Anguished eyes rolled upwards and he swayed in the saddle before sliding slowly to the ground. There was one agonised scream, as his left shoulder hit the earth and then dark lashes fluttered shut and he lay cold and still as death amongst a drift of last years leaves.

Leaping from Bill, Sam ran back to his master, desperately checking that he was still breathing before gathering him against his chest and gently patting the pale cheeks, trying in vain to rouse him. Frodo was chill to his touch and yet bathed in perspiration and for several moments Sam was at a loss what to do.

Frodo's left hand lay still and cold but his right was feebly trying to reach for the bright jewel that hung on a fine silver chain about his neck. It was then that Sam remembered a day, several months ago, when Frodo had lain in his bed thus. Lifting his friend's hand in his, Sam wrapped it about the jewel and sighed in relief as he saw the irregular movements of his master's chest slow and even out. But there was still no sign of returning consciousness.

Finally making the connection between the tree and Frodo's collapse, Sam lifted him in his arms. "Well, Mr Frodo . . . I've carried you before and I can do it again." With that he stood, surprised at how little Frodo weighed. Now that he held him Sam regretted the arguments with Rosie. It would seem that once again, his wife was more astute than he, even when it came to Frodo. Sam could almost feel his master's ribs, through the thickness of jacket and cloak. He clucked softly and the two ponies followed him as he walked as far from the accursed tree as he could with his precious bundle.

Finding a small clearing a little way from the road, Sam laid down his burden and began to wrap him in all the blankets from their packs. After that there was little he could do, except sit at Frodo's side and bathe his face with cold water from their canteens. 

It was nearly an hour before Frodo's eyelids began to flutter and a faint flush of colour returned to his cheeks and lips. There was a soft sigh and then blue eyes opened and tried to focus on the world.

"Where are we? What happened?"

Sam supported Frodo with an arm around his back as he made to sit up dazedly. "We're on the Stock Road. Near the Woody End. Don't you remember, Frodo?"

Frodo blinked and tried to collect his scattered wits. "We can't stay here . . . the black rider . . ."

Sam laid a gentle hand, holding a dampened handkerchief, on Frodo's brow. "They've gone, Mr Frodo. They were destroyed when the Ring was destroyed."

Frodo closed his eyes again, shuddering as his hand moved to clutch the jewel about his neck more closely . . . he had not let go since Sam had placed it there. "Yes, of course." He opened his eyes and smiled weakly. "I'm sorry, Sam. I was confused for a moment. Did I fall off the pony?"

Not sure whether Frodo even remembered the tree, Sam decided not to mention it in case it triggered a relapse. "That's right. Perhaps we should camp here for the night and move on in the morning, when you've had more rest. You took quite a tumble."

To Sam's surprise, Frodo resisted, pushing aside the blankets and trying to rise. "No. We must move on tonight."

Sam rushed to help him, supporting Frodo when he stumbled. "I really don't think this is a good idea. You still look a mite unsteady to me." He continued to help Frodo to mount, however.

Once settled back on Strider, Frodo smiled down at him. "Come on, Sam . . . not far."

Sam sighed, well aware that once Frodo set his mind to something there was no shifting him from the path. He clambered up onto Bill and followed his master from the clearing and back onto the road. As soon as there was room however, Sam moved alongside Frodo so that he could catch him if he showed signs of falling again. But although he continued pale and quiet, Frodo seemed fairly steady once more and they rode through the star filled night thus for some time.

The road headed down a hill between hazel thickets and Sam was silent, deep in memories. Presently he became aware that Frodo was singing softly to himself. The voice was weak but it had always carried a tune well. He was singing the old walking song that Bilbo had taught him, but the words were not quite the same.

Still round the corner there may wait

A new road or a secret gate;

And though I oft have passed them by,

A day will come at last when I

Shall take the hidden paths that run

West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

And as if in answer, from down below, coming up the road out of the valley, voices sang:

A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!

Silivren penna miriel

O menel aglar elenath,

Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!

We still remember, we who dwell

In this far land beneath the trees

The starlight on the Western Seas.

The two travellers waited as a pale glimmer came through the woods towards them.

There was Gildor, once more and many other fair elven folk; and there to Sam's wonder rode Elrond and Galadriel. 

The Lady sat upon a white palfrey and was robed all in glimmering white, like clouds about the Moon; for she herself seemed to shine with a soft light. On her finger was Nenya, the ring wrought of mithril, that bore a single white stone flickering like a frosty star. Galadriel smiled upon them. 

"Well, Master Samwise," she said. "I hear and see that you have used my gift well. The Shire shall will now be more than ever blessed and beloved." 

Sam bowed, but found nothing to say. He had forgotten how beautiful the Lady was.

Elrond wore a mantle of grey and had a star bound upon his forehead, and a silver harp was in his hand. Upon his finger, worn openly at last, was a ring of gold with a great blue stone, Vilya, mightiest of the Three. His keen healer's eye fell upon Frodo and he nudged his horse closer to the tiny hobbit, although he said nothing, other than to greet both travellers gravely and graciously.

Riding slowly behind on a small grey pony, and seeming to nod in his sleep, was Bilbo himself. He woke up and opened his eyes. 

"Hullo, Frodo!" he said. "Well, I have passed the Old Took today! So that's settled. And now I think I am quite ready to go on another journey. Are you coming?"

"Yes, I am coming," said Frodo. "The Ringbearers should go together."

"Where are you going, Master?" cried Sam, though at last he thought he understood what was happening.

"To the Havens, Sam," said Frodo.

"And I can't come."

"No, Sam. Not yet anyway, not further than the Havens. Though you too were a Ring-bearer, if only for a little while. Your time may come. Do not be too sad, Sam. You cannot be always torn in two. You will have to be one and whole, for many years. You have so much to enjoy and to be, and to do."

"But," said Sam, and tears started in his eyes, "I thought you were going to enjoy the Shire, too, for years and years, after all you have done."

"So I thought too once. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them.

But you are my heir: all that I had and might have had I leave to you. And also you have Rosie, and Elanor; and Frodo-lad will come, and Rosie-lass, and Merry, and Goldilocks, and Pippin; and perhaps more that I cannot see. 

You will be the most famous gardener in history; and will read things out of the Red Book, and keep alive the memory of the age that is gone, so that people will remember the Great Danger and so love their beloved land all the more." His voice held a note of pleading.

"Will you ride with me on this last journey? I know I am being a little selfish in this, but I did want us to ride together one last time." Even as he spoke Frodo could see the world turning grey and a wave of heat and nausea washed through him.

Sam watched his master's eyebrows draw together in confusion and his eyes roll up in their sockets. "Mr Frodo!" 

Elrond had been watching Frodo closely and as soon as he saw the blue eyes begin to glaze he handed off his harp to Gildor and sprang from the saddle just in time to catch the little hobbit as he slid from his pony. The smallest Ringbearer was cradled in Elrond's arms as the elven lord looked up at Gildor.

"We need somewhere to make camp for a few hours. Know you of a place nearby?"

Gildor nodded, as he secured Elrond's harp to the saddle. "Indeed. Very close. Follow me." With that he took the reins of the elf lord's horse and led the way off the road and into the woods. Galadriel reached down and drew Elrond's cloak about Frodo to protect him from the chill night air, before the elf began to follow their guide, his long smooth stride eating up the ground as fast as any pony.

Sam spurred Bill, taking the reins of Frodo's own pony, Strider and following Elrond as closely as he may.

"Please, sir . . . What's the matter with my master? He got taken sick back on the road a ways and now this . . ."

Elrond's voice was clear but quiet, no more than a whisper of leaves to anyone passing on the road. "His body and spirit has been through too much, Samwise. He is failing.

"Oh no! Please don't let him go. Please, Master Elrond."

Elrond paused, looking across at Sam, where he sat trembling upon Bill. "I and my kin will do all we can to aid him in holding to Middle earth, but I cannot return a life once it has fled. Only one has that power and I am not privy to his thoughts." With those words he turned swiftly and followed Gildor through the coppice once more.

TBC


	3. Choices

CHAPTER 3 – Choices

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This chapter has been built around a role-play between Elwen and Frodo Baggins of Bag End.

Sam glanced around the glade from his place by the fire, eating his supper dutifully. It had taken only minutes for the elves to arrive at this camping area and not much longer to light the fire and begin to prepare food. He had sat at Frodo's side while they did, but as soon as the food was ready the Lady herself had called him away and placed a plate of supper in his lap. He could hardly refuse her, so here he sat, but his eyes kept straying across the clearing, to where Lord Elrond remained seated by the side of a still unconscious Frodo.

Sheltered from Sam's anxious gaze by Elrond's back, Frodo lay almost perfectly still, immobile save for the slight rise and fall of his chest and stomach with each breath. Had Bilbo been as he was while the Ring held his age fast, he would have been pushing at the elven lord's elbow, demanding to know what caused his adopted child's breathing to come in such short, soft catches. . .but he sat nearby, nodding after only a light meal. 

Sam pushed at the lightly cooked vegetables and the small piece of poached trout, picking at it distractedly. 

"Now you get that eaten, young lad. Don't go wasting good food."

Jumping guiltily at the voice, Sam looked up to meet Bilbo's watery gaze.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm just so worried about Mr Frodo that I don't feel very hungry," Sam replied.

"Nonsense, my lad. Master Elrond will sort him out quickly enough. They say he is the greatest healer in Middle earth. So stop your fretting."

Sam took up a spoonful of vegetables and chewed slowly. They did taste very good, but his eyes kept returning to his master.

"Mr Frodo's not been feeling right ever since Mordor. I thought he would get better but . . . And Lord Elrond says that he may not be able to heal him this time." The gentle gardener gave way to tears at last. "I don't think I could bear to watch him . . . to watch . . . I couldn't."

"Good gracious, lad. Don't take on so. We're travelling with powerful folk. And anyway, that ring of his will protect him. It kept me well for many a year." Bilbo pointed a trembling finger at Sam, his voice holding a note of certainty.

Sam looked at him in some dismay. "But the Ring is gone. That's why he had to go to Mordor, to destroy the Ring . . . and that's why he's so sick now."

Confusion settled on Bilbo's features. "Destroy the ring . . . whatever for. Why go all that way to get rid of a piece of jewellery." His eyes grew distant and his hand began to pat his waistcoat pocket absently. "And it was such a lovely ring."

Sam resisted the urge to shudder. "It was evil, Mr Bilbo. It had to be destroyed. And seemingly, Mr Frodo was the only one that could be trusted to do it. But it hurt him . . . hurt him so bad." He broke off into choking sobs, the plate of food forgotten.

Confused as he was about the reason for his nephew's illness and the severity of it, still Bilbo could recognise distress when he saw it and he was not so far gone that he could not feel compassion. He reached out and laid an arm about Sam, pulling him close and rubbing the shaking shoulders. "Shhhhhhh, lad. It will all come right." 

Sam was not convinced.

Elrond sensed Frodo's return to consciousness before there was any physical sign and sent word for warm broth. At last the heavy eyelashes fluttered, raven against the spectrally white features and after some minutes of effort, Frodo opened his eyes, blinking with confusion. Replacing the damp cloth across Frodo's brow, Elrond watched the shadowed blue eyes carefully. 

"How are you feeling, Frodo?" He tucked warm soft blankets around the hobbit and waited for the eyes to focus.

"Thirsty . . .terribly thirsty."

Frodo's gaze struggled to focus on the figure above him, his breath still coming at twice the pace it should. The face, with its frame of dark hair, gradually registered in his mind . . . Lord Elrond. Was he in Rivendell? Frodo raised confused eyes to the elf's face.

"Where are we?"

Elrond lifted a tiny, delicately carved alabaster bottle from a small wooden box at his side. "We are in a glade in the Woody End. Will you take some medicine for me? Then you can have some broth."

"Where we first . . .met Gildor . . .and the others, isn't . . .isn't it?" Frodo smiled faintly, pleased with himself for having made the connection through the fog in his mind, though his dark blue eyes remained wells of sorrow. "I . . .I'm not . . .really hungry . . .and I feel . . .a bit sick." He could not seem to find the breath to string more than a couple of words together.

Elrond's voice was calm and quiet, soothing in his ears. "Yes, it is the same place." He removed the stopper from the translucent bottle and slid a hand beneath Frodo's head. The hand holding the bottle touched a finger to the small cleft-chin to gently prize apart pale lips.

"The medicine will help." Five drops of golden liquid landed on Frodo's tongue and then Elrond set the bottle back in the box and waited for Frodo to swallow, his fingers held at the chilled throat. The tincture of Lily of the Valley should help to steady the labouring heart muscles. 

A weak motion . . .quite slowly, Frodo swallowed, still blinking as he tried to recover himself a little. This time, there was only the slightest hint of pink at his lips, and this only as the tincture began to take effect: there was no flush of returning colour along the high, sharply etched cheekbones.

Behind him, Gildor and another of the party arrived with heated stones, wrapped in pieces of torn blanket and Elrond supervised their placement around his charge. Although Frodo was not shivering and, indeed, there was a pale sheen of perspiration on his body, the flesh was icy cold. Too often in his long life had Elrond seen this combination of symptoms and his heart wept, for they more often than not preceded a departure from this world. If Frodo were to make it through this journey it would take all of the healer's skill

Slowly Frodo's right hand sought out the gem on its chain about his neck, fastening over it so tightly that his knuckles blanched. Elrond sent out silent thanks to his daughter, so many miles away, grateful for her wisdom in aiding the Ringbearer thus. Then he added some Miruvor to a cup of broth. Lifting Frodo once more, he slid some wadded blankets beneath the small shoulders and head, then leaned him back into their support and touched the cup to his lips.

"Will you at least try a little of this. You will find the flavour very mild and it should not upset your stomach."

"All right . . ." Frodo yielded readily enough, at least for now: the contents of the cup had little fragrance, with no strong smells to unsettle his stomach. Weakly he ventured a small sip, tasting . . .and then another, though very slowly. "I felt . . .earlier . . .cold for so long, and then . . .terribly hot."

Elrond held the cup patiently; tilting it to allow another small trickle of broth once the previous mouthful had been swallowed.

"You have perhaps, stayed longer in the Shire than you should have for your body is weakening, and as it does so it is not able to regulate your temperature properly." A gentle hand rested upon Frodo's chest and heat grew beneath the palm and began to permeate slowly through chilled flesh. "I had been awaiting your message for some weeks before I decided to make plans for my departure, and write to you myself. I thought that you may have decided to remain in Middle-earth after all."

"I almost had." Frodo's voice quailed, soft with regret. "I had almost begun . . .to think that . . .I . . .could, and . . .and should . . .stay." He glanced anxiously toward the other side of the camp, where Sam sat, talking with Bilbo.

"But . . .as it is, I . . .I fear I may have . . .stayed . . .too late, and . . .will hurt Sam . . .all the more now." Slowly, almost hesitantly, he continued to take the broth, swallowing weakly as Elrond offered each minute sip. The warmth seemed hardly to be felt . . .though the tiny limbs seemed to relax a little, and some of the perspiration still breaking out across the delicate face slowed, easing a bit.

Noting the slight improvement Elrond decided it was time to make sure of Frodo's intentions. The Ringbearer needed to know how ill he was and the options that lay before him. "I will use all my skill to get you safely to the West, Little One. But there are some things that even I cannot hold back forever."

The compress was removed and used to dab at Frodo's face. "You must tell me now whether you wish to continue your journey, or return to your home. But I must warn you that if you return now, you will never regain the strength to make this journey again."

Silently Frodo gazed up at him; blue eyes dark as an overcast winter's morning with snow approaching . . .then looked away, sighing softly. For a long moment, he remained quiet, not speaking and Elrond began to wonder whether he had understood. Then Frodo's faint voice drifted on the cold night air.

"I want . . .to spare Sam . . .this last torment . . .for that is . . .what . . .what it would be . . .for him." He swallowed tensely.

"If you are willing, I . . .I would rather . . .continue." Vivid blue eyes met Elrond's directly, their intensity absolutely coherent. "Regardless . . .of what . . .happens."

"I believe you are right. If you remain in the Shire the end will be sure and your friend will be forced to watch you fade. After all that you have been through together I think he would find that a bitter end indeed." The grey eyes that met his were gentle as summer rain. "This way, you have a chance for healing. But if it is not to be I will do all that I can to ease you . . . and Sam will not be left to travel home alone, for I will send some of my people back with him."

"Thank you . . ." There was no smile, and yet Frodo looked grateful, giving a slight nod.

"At . . .at first I thought . . .I wanted . . .to die at . . .at home, at . . .Bag End . . .with all my . . .old, familiar . . .things, and . . .Sam and Rosie . . .beside me . . . But . . .I cannot bear . . .to force them, and . . . little Elanor . . .on that journey."

Elrond continued to coax sips of the fortified broth into Frodo, aware of the soft sound of sobbing coming from the pair of hobbits seated at the fire behind him, although it was probably too low to disturb Frodo.

"No friend would wish to ask another to walk that road with them and yet, from what I have seen of Samwise Gamgee, he would not leave you to make that journey alone if he knew it must be taken . . . as he did not once before."

Frodo's voice took on a firmer edge, despite its thinness. "Which is all . . .the more . . .reason that I . . .will not . . .place him in . . .such a position . . .again." He continued to allow Elrond to administer small doses of the heated nourishment.

"Rosie packed . . .some of . . .my things . . . She . . .knew what . . .I would want . . .and should have . . .in case."

"A wise lady." The elf lay a gentle hand upon Frodo's brow and then touched fingers to the pulse at his throat. The pulse was stronger than before and some warmth had crept back, the perspiration drying.

"You should rest. Do you need anything from your pack? Sam tells me that your sleep has been troubled. Would you like me to give you something to help you rest without dreams?"

Elrond slid an arm beneath Frodo as he removed the additional support and lowered him on to his back once more, pushing the heated stones closer.

"Yes . . .yes, please . . .I have . . .terrible dreams."

Even the thought evoked a fresh sheen of perspiration: the tiny pulse becoming quickened and irregular, unsteady; the forehead damp with icy sweat, and the Little One seemed at once feverish and chilled.

"In . . .in my pack, there . . .there is a . . .a square . . .from one of my . . .favourite quilts . . . I would like . . .very much . . .to have that."

Frodo's pack had been lying behind him all this time and Elrond reached across now, opening it to look within. Trying not to pry too closely at the contents he, nonetheless, had to sort through them carefully to find the tiny square of fabric, no bigger than his outstretched hand.

"Is this it?"

Immediate relief washed over the tiny features. "Yes . . .yes, please . . .that's it." He mustered a faint effort at smiling.

"That was . . .made for me . . .when I was . . .a child . . . And there are . . .squares . . .from some . . .of the others . . .one made . . .for me in . . .Minas Tirith, and . . .one . . .Rosie made . . .while I was . . .staying . . .with them, when . . .when we first . . .returned . . . She used to . . .work on it . . .while . . .sitting with me."

Elrond examined the pale blue and lilac pieces, worked in a delicate design of primula flowers. "The stitching is exquisite. As fine as any I have seen."

Tucking it into Frodo's fingers he turned his attention back to the wooden box at his side. Drawing out another small, carved bottle, he cradled the small head on his arm once more.

"This will work quickly in your present condition, and I promise that you will sleep without dreams."

Five drops of a sweet brown liquid landed smoothly on Frodo's tongue. And they were swallowed quickly, though not without difficulty . . .evident only to Frodo's body and Elrond's eyes as yet, but present nonetheless. Closing his fingers tightly over the square, Frodo rested against the supporting arm, allowing Elrond to cradle his head while giving the dose of much-needed medicine. Yet already he began to curl up a little as best he could, as if anxious to be laid back into his nest of covers and makeshift pillow.

The healer lowered him gently and shook out another blanket, draping it over the tiny form, then he looked up, seeking Galadriel's gaze and his inner voice reached out to her mind.

"We can break camp in a few minutes. He will not be disturbed by the movement."

The Lady of the Golden Wood nodded imperceptibly and rose, issuing the instructions to leave. 

Elrond looked down at Frodo, seeing what mortal eyes could not. Within the failing body lay the cause of Frodo's illness. The Ring had wrapped itself about the bright and delicate fea, as convolvulous wraps itself about a plant and strangles it, and when the Ring was torn from Frodo it took parts of his shining fea with it, tearing great rents in the fabric. Elrond could see where Aragorn had tried to draw some of the edges together when he had tended Frodo in Ithilien, but the remaining fabric was too frail and the stitches had finally pulled away. 

It was to be hoped that the hobbit's sacrifice would bring an end to pain, for others, if not for Frodo. It would be pity indeed if it did not. Perhaps with the birth of this new age, Middle-earth would find some measure of peace. Yet no one, not even Illuvatar, could know where this new age would take the world, for to man alone, was given the gift to move outside the great song of creation. The healer sighed.

TBC


	4. The Grey Towers

CHAPTER 4 – The Grey Towers

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For people interested in story construction . . . the last half of this chapter is based upon a role-play between Elwen and Frodo Baggins of Bag End.

Frodo knew little of the next two days but for Sam they were some of the longest in his life.

As soon as he saw that the elves were preparing to leave he abandoned his largely untouched supper and ran over to his friend, hesitating a moment when he saw Lord Elrond, with eyes closed, resting a hand upon Frodo's breast, above his heart. The elf sensed his presence however, beckoning him forward, and Sam took up station on the ground opposite the tall elf lord.

"How is he?"

Elrond withdrew his hand and began to pack away bottles in an intricately carved wooden box at his side.

"He awoke for a little while and took some broth. I gave him something to help him sleep and he rests now."

Sam smoothed back the dark curls from Frodo's brow, relieved to find his skin a little warmer, although the finely chiselled face was still too pale. Sam was reminded of a sudden of one of Mr Bilbo's best china cups, a tea service that had disappeared during the Sackville-Baggins tenure of Bag End. The service had been made of the finest white china, so light it felt as though it would float away if you let go, and when held up to the window the light shone through it, giving the impression that it glowed.

"He's been ill for months, although he tried to hide it from me and Rosie. But it's been worse the past few weeks," Sam offered.

Elrond settled back on his heels. "He has been ill for more than a few weeks, or even a few months. In truth he has not been completely well since he was stabbed at Weathertop."

Sam gaped. "Surely not that long? I would have seen it."

"It has been a slow decline, accelerated by the loss of the Ring. Large parts of his soul were dragged from him when he lost the Ring and the wounds inflicted have never fully healed, nor are they likely to, while he remains in Middle-earth. But in the Undying Lands he has some hope of recovery."

"Hope?" Sam had caught a hind of uncertainty in the elf's voice.

"He is very ill, Samwise. Even the skill of the elves and the virtue of the Undying Lands may not be sufficient to repair such damage as he has sustained. But if he remains in Middle-earth the decline will reach its inevitable conclusion." Elrond released a small sigh. "If we can bring him safely to the West he has some chance, for there is a power there greater than mine."

Sam's gaze returned to the peaceful face of his master. "He's still set on going then?"

"Yes. I asked him whether he was still intent upon the journey before I sent him into sleep."

The gardener did not dare look into the elf's face as he asked his next question. "Will he make it, do you think?"

There was a pause that seemed to Sam to stretch out into infinity, then the soft music of Lord Elrond's voice drifted to him across Frodo's still form. "I do not know."

A large but gentle hand touched his shoulder in comfort and Sam found that tears were sliding down his cheeks once more.

Camp was broken as quickly as it had been set up and, when Sam looked about the clearing as he remounted, there was no evidence that the elves had ever been there. He looked up at the tall, grey clad figure seated upon a grey stallion at his side. He could not see Frodo, although he knew he was there, held safe within the shadow of Lord Elrond's great cloak. Sam had watched closely as Gildor had handed up the blanket wrapped, sleeping hobbit and Elrond had settled him in the crook of his left arm, drawing his own cloak about him, almost like a tent.

Bilbo rode a little way behind, nodding as he drowsed, the reigns of his pony held by Gildor.

They travelled on, through the unfamiliar White Downs and then on to the Far Downs. Under other circumstances Sam would have been craning his neck, taking great interest in the new landscape but now he only had eyes for the grey figure at his side and the precious bundle that he carried. 

After a while, Sam noticed that Lord Elrond did not hold the reins of his horse, but steered with his knees, for with one arm he cradled Frodo and his other hand rested upon the small chest. Sometimes, when Ithil had hidden his face behind a cloud, Sam fancied that he saw a pale silver glimmer coming from the depths of Elrond's cloak.

The elves travelled mainly through the evening and night, making camp in a hollow of the land during the daylight hours. They moved like a pale mist across the landscape, silent and unnoticed except perhaps by the wild animals that crossed their path. 

As the sky lightened to grey on the third day, and the fingers of the Grey Towers rose from the mist of a chill autumn morning, Sam noticed that one of the other elves took the reins of Lord Elrond's horse; and when they stopped to camp the elf lord had to be helped down.

Sam hovered by Elrond as Frodo was settled upon a bed of dry bracken and then sat down at his master's side, determined that he would not be parted from him, for Frodo seemed to be stirring at last. To his surprise, Lord Elrond was turned and led away by the Lady Galadriel and it was Gildor that took up position opposite Sam.

"Lord Elrond says that your master will awaken shortly, Samwise. When he does you should give him a little of this Miruvor and some broth that will be sent across to you once it can be warmed." He handed Sam a small silver flask and then left. The little hobbit felt very alone all of a sudden and his eyes sought out Bilbo. The ancient hobbit rose from his place at the fire and wondered over, a vague smile on his lips. With much grunting he lowered himself slowly to the ground next to Sam. 

"Don't you worry, lad. Master Elrond will sort him out." He patted the youngster's hand.

A gentle sigh at his side drew Sam's attention back to his charge and he waited as Frodo's dark eyelashes fluttered open.

At the other side of the camp, Elrond was seated in the shade of a lone ash tree, with Galadriel at his side. The Lady's voice was light as spring rain.

"You cannot go on feeding Frodo your own strength in this way. We are a strong people but even we have our limits." She pushed her kinsman's hood back from his face to let the early sun warm it. "You have not the use of Vilya to support you. Its power has faded."

Elrond's grey eyes met those of his wife's mother firmly. "It was elven greed and pride that helped to bring about the existence of the One Ring; the ring that we sent Frodo to destroy. I owe it to him and to my daughter to help now and I will not abandon him while I have the strength to do so."

The voice of the Lady of the Golden Wood carried a small note of censure as she brushed a stray lock of dark hair from Elrond's cheek. "I did not suggest that you abandon him, nor would I ever do so. I simply stated that you could not continue to use your own strength. I suppose such stubborn independence is to be expected from one with such an upbringing as yours' but I would have thought that all the years you have spent in this world would have taught you something."

He let his eyes slide away from her piercing gaze. He rarely won any verbal battle with Galadriel, even when he had all his wits about him, and at the moment he was too weary to even try. "Then, what do you suggest?"

Galadriel did not press her advantage. "You do not travel alone. Allow us to aid you for we too, owe Master Baggins much." She laid a pale and slender hand upon his and Elrond blinked in surprise, taking a deep breath as his arid fea was flooded with the clear shining water of her strength.

"Thank you." His eyes met hers again, seeing within them for a moment an echo of his wife. Then her gaze grew distant and she murmured. "He is awakening. You had better go to him."

O0O

Sam looked up in relief as Elrond approached. Frodo was swallowing the broth he was coaxing him with but he seemed only half-aware of his surroundings, the blue eyes drifting in and out of focus. The healer settled on the ground, laying his carved box at his side. 

Slowly, with an effort, the vivid morning-glory eyes began to focus. Another mouthful went down with clear difficulty: this time, Frodo nearly choked, wincing as the broth went down the wrong way and at once, Elrond's gentle hands lifted him, patting his back lightly to aid its return.

"Please . . . no more. I can't," Frodo whimpered. He desperately wanted the liquid but the effort was just too much.

"It is alright, Frodo. I can help you to swallow." The elf lifted the cup from Sam's fingers. "Let me take over, Sam. You sit behind your master and support him against your chest."

The gardener was quick to comply and Elrond leaned Frodo back into the security of his friends' arms. The small wooden herbal was opened and a bottle removed.

"Time for a little more medicine."

The look that crossed Frodo's face seemed a silent groan and the Ringbearer blinked fretfully, the change in position seeming to help his breathing, though it worsened his pallor.

"There now, Mr. Frodo," soothed Sam, his voice quiet and reassuring. "Just a drop. . .you can do this. You can." But there was a hint of doubt in the brown eyes: Sam was very worried at his friend's deteriorating health.

Looking far less convinced, Frodo looked up at Elrond anxiously . . .but opened his mouth slightly, ready for additional liquid. The small alabaster bottle of tincture of Lily of the Valley was opened and Elrond slipped five tiny drops between Frodo's lips.

"That is all the medicine." He touched gentle fingers to Frodo's throat. There was another effort and, with the additional impetus of Elrond stroking lightly, the tiny muscles of the throat worked. The medicine went down, swallowed without further incident, and Frodo seemed to relax. 

Sam, visibly relieved, smiled rubbing Frodo's arm gently. "There now, Mr. Frodo. . .all done."

Taking up the cup of fortified broth in one hand, the healer continued press fingers to Frodo's throat. "Hold him steady, Samwise." He trickled a little of the warm, light liquid into his charge's mouth, helping him to swallow once more.

Frodo flinched in surprise as he heard his uncle's voice. 

"Hello Frodo, my lad. Not feeling too well? You should look after yourself better, you know."

Frodo tried to smile; the merest curl of the corners of his lips. "Just tired . . . Bilbo. I'm sure I . . . will feel better . . . tomorrow."

"It's not like you," Bilbo noted with some confusion.

"It was . . . the Ring," Frodo tried to explain, knowing even as he said it that Bilbo would probably not understand. He was not sure he entirely understood himself.

Bilbo's face cleared. "Oh . . . Whatever happened to that old ring of mine?"

Frodo's heart sank at the words. Bilbo would be his only link with home when he arrived in the West. There would be no one else to share his thoughts with and he quailed at the idea of being all alone.

Elrond glanced across the dell at Gildor and the guide nodded and approached the little group resting a hand lightly on the old hobbit's shoulder. "Come along, Master Bilbo. Your bed is prepared. Let us leave your nephew to the care of Samwise and Lord Elrond."

Bilbo smiled vaguely and allowed the tall elf to help him up. "Sleep well, Frodo my lad." And with that he allowed himself to be lead away.

"Try to swallow, Little One. You will need the strength for the journey ahead." Elrond brushed a tear from Frodo's cheek. "The Undying Lands may bring healing to more than you."

Frodo blinked, bringing his eyes to meet the deep pools of wisdom that were Elrond's.

"Bilbo?"

There was a slight inclination of the elf's head. "He was affected by the Ring too. You may both find the healing you seek."

"Thank you . . . for that . . . hope."

Elrond poured a few drops of the fortified broth between pale lips, his other hand touching Frodo's throat expertly.

Slowly Frodo's gaze lost focus . . .yet Elrond's keen eyes noted that it was not the unfocusing of half-delirium or drowsiness, but a refocusing on something farther than the elven lord's face. Over Elrond's shoulder Frodo could make out, in the far distance, a squat grey tower, it's conical roof long ruined, whether by age and the elements or some other event he could not tell. Much closer was another tower, its slender, grey stone finger pointing to the clear blue sky of a fine autumn day that had emerged from the dawn mist. In a better state of repair, its roof was flat and balustraded.

The small throat moved weakly in response, but then faltered, swallowing hesitantly even with Elrond's touch, and at last Frodo closed his lips, pulling back weakly to murmur something.

"Those . . .those towers . . . From . . .my dreams . . . There . . . there are . . . three."

Concerned, although there was no sign of it in his face, Elrond's fingers slid to one side to check the pulse at Frodo's jaw.

"You are not dreaming, Little One. You have drowsed away three nights and two days and we are at the Grey Towers. The third tower is behind you, somewhat ruined I am afraid, and we are about to signal Himlond of our imminent arrival."

Frodo shook his head slightly. "I . . .I mean . . ." He was frustrated at his body's weakness, speaking with difficulty. "From my dream . . . the one I've . . .had so many times . . . Ever since . . .I was small. . .I've seen them. . . ." Blue eyes gazed up longingly at the grey shapes. "You can . . .see the . . . Sea . . .from there . . .I'm sure."

Elrond continued trying to coax some broth between pale lips. The frail body needed nourishment and the Miruvor would steady the faltering system. "Yes. You can see the Grey Havens, and beyond that, the Gulf of Lhun and the Sea. Gildor will be going to the top shortly to signal."

He nodded to their left, where Gildor was untying a large drawstring bag from his pack. "I did not know that you had ever seen the Sea."

"I . . .I haven't." The next mouthful of broth was refused and Frodo turned his head slightly to watch Gildor, blue eyes darkening with longing. "I've only . . .had dreams . . .about it . . . And always . . .you can see . . .the Sea . . .from those towers."

Elrond leaned back on his heels, setting the unfinished cup on the ground. He assessed his patient. It was unlikely that he would be able to press Frodo to take more of the broth in his present frame of mind and perhaps, sight of the Sea would strengthen him. It was a long climb but Frodo was light enough for him to carry. In fact he was too light . . . as light as Arwen had been when she had been brought here as a child. 

"Would you like me to take you to the top?"

"Would you?" Frodo's eyes widened at once: he had seemed listless for so long but now the blue eyes brightened. "Please . . .please, I'd . . .I'd love that."

Sam's face grew concerned, however. "It's awful high for a hobbit, sir. I don't hold with such heights." It would not do to add vertigo to his master's discomfort. The dark curls moved and Frodo tilted his head a little, leaning back to look up at his friend, his gaze resolute and firm.

"Sam . . .I've never . . .seen the Sea . . .and I . . .I want to . . .more than . . .anything in the . . .world."

And Sam could not refuse Frodo . . . had never been able to refuse him, even when he had known that they were travelling into danger. "Alright, Mister Frodo. As long as Master Elrond is there to look after you." His gaze was equally resolute when he looked up at Lord Elrond and added, pointedly, "As I'm sure he will."

Elrond's face showed no smile but there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "I will take good care of your master, Samwise. I would not wish to incur the wrath of his doughty protector."

Sam blushed and then swallowed. "Beggin' your pardon, Mr Frodo...but I don't think I could go all the way up there."

"It's . . .all right, Sam . . . Perhaps . . .some other time . . . I will be alright."

Frodo smiled faintly, yet his eyes betrayed the truth: there would be no 'other time' and he realised that even now. But for the moment, it was as simple a matter as Sam's effort to calculate food supplies for a return journey from Mount Doom, and Frodo weakly put out his arms to his elven caregiver.

He was gathered up easily, cradled safely against the grey velvet of Elrond's robe, and the elven lord drew his soft cloak about them both, to protect Frodo from the breeze as he climbed the low hill in Gildor's footsteps.

TBC.


	5. A Sight Of The Sea

CHAPTER 5 – A Sight of the Sea

This chapter is built around a role-play between Elwen and Frodo Baggins of Bag End.

The tower loomed tall and dark above them as they rounded it to enter from the shadowed west side. Its doorway was tall, even compared against elven height; the pointed arch delicately carved with leaves and flowers, although age and weather had blunted the crisp edges of the mason's work.

It was dim inside, the morning sunlight only venturing a few feet beyond the entrance, to illuminate the first half dozen risers of a staircase that curved away around a central newel. Granite steps were difficult to wear away and yet their softened edges and the gentle dip in the centre of each tread, was testimony to the thousands of pairs of feet that had climbed them over the centuries since their construction. Gildor kindled a torch, slung the canvas bag over his shoulder and climbed ahead of them, the glow of the brand held aloft in his hand warming the grey of each precisely fitted stone in the walls.

"Not long, Frodo," murmured Elrond.

Frodo was curious, though he rested against Elrond, the tiny mop of curls snuggling against grey velvet and his pallid skin eerily cool to the touch. "Is it . . . many stairs?"

Elrond's lips curled in a slight smile as the question brought old memories to life. "Two hundred from bottom to top . . . Elladan and Elrohir counted them once, when they were much younger."

They climbed steadily for several minutes, until a pale light began to filter down from a doorway ahead. Gildor snuffed out the torch in a bowl of sand set there for the purpose and Frodo's protector drew his cloak more closely about the little hobbit's face.

"It will seem quite bright when we come back into the sunlight," Elrond warned. He rounded a corner and stepped out into the piercing light, turning to his right to face the early morning sun.

"There is the Shire, Frodo . . . and beyond that the Weather Hills and the Misty Mountains." He drew back the edge of his cloak slowly so that Frodo could see.

"Ah!" Frodo's breath caught: he squinted at first, forced to hide his face in the cloak-edge once more for a moment while eyes, the colour of the sky above them focussed. But then he peered back out, gazing over the landscape with delight, attempting to shade his eyes with the cloak.

"It looks . . .so small . . .from here . . .such a great . . .distance."

Before them Eriador was spread in the sun like some huge quilt. Closest to them was the brown bracken covered hills of the Far Downs and beyond them, the White Downs . . . then the lush farmland of his beloved Shire . . . the tiny fields forming a multi-hued patchwork of green, stitched with dark hawthorn hedges. From this distance the damage done by Saruman was invisible to eyes that did not know the land. A ribbon of shimmering silver marked the Brandywine and beyond it was the dark smudge of the Old Forrest. Whilst to elven eyes the Misty Mountains may indeed have been visible, Frodo could see only a vague shadow on the horizon.

A smile settled over his features: in the sunshine, though, he looked even paler, small features spectrally white. Yet these were soon hidden, the Little One withdrawing into the folds of Elrond's wrap, the sun too bright for his sensitive eyes.

Turning back to his left, Elrond cradled Frodo in the crook of one arm as he pointed to where a river glinted, silver in the distance. "There is the river Lhun and, at its mouth, that small walled settlement is Mithlond, that you call the Grey Havens." He took another step to the left. "And there is the Gulf of Lhun . . . and the sea."

"Ahhhhhhh. . . ." The tiny mouth opened with a soft gasp and Frodo gazed out curiously, peeking from the folds of Elrond's cloak to follow his direction, though he did so with some difficulty, his eyes focussing only with some effort even though he lay in the shadow of his carer.

"It's . . .it's so large," he whispered.

Elrond's voice too, was little more than a breath, his grey eyes focussed on something even more distant. "A wide sea indeed . . . that separates West from East." 

To one side, Gildor busied himself with his task. All about the edge of the stone floor of the tower, hemmed within the balustrade, were small holes. The elven guide set a short pole with a crescent at its top, in a hole at the west side and a taller pole of similar design at the east. Then Gildor unfastened the canvas bag he had carried so carefully and removed two large discs of polished silver that he set within the crescents. The shorter he angled to catch the morning sun, then he stood at the taller and began to swing it to catch the reflected sunlight of the first.

Knowing what was to come, Elrond drew his cloak across Frodo's curious eyes once more as he watched Gildor tilt the disc. There was a bright flash of light, followed by two more and then Gildor paused and after a few moments there was an answering flash from Mithlond.

Elrond's face sought Frodo's; a pale moon within the midnight shadow of his cloak. "They know we are coming. Two more days and we will be boarding, Frodo."

"So . . .long . . .as that?" Frodo sounded almost disappointed . . .a soft, shuddering sigh came from beneath the cloak, and the small bundle sank back against Elrond a bit more. "I . . .I'm . . .so tired . . .very, very . . .tired." He squinted a little, despite the cloak-shade and the right hand fumbling fretfully for the Evenstar on its chain about his neck. 

The fatigue was duly noted and Elrond settled him more comfortably. "We will go down now." He snagged the chain about the little hobbit's neck and drew it out so those tiny fingers could more easily find the object of their search.

With a nod to Gildor, now packing away the mirrors, Elrond began the descent. It was darker, without the light of Gildor's torch, but elven eyesight could easily find the steps. Two days was a long time indeed, for one so frail as this, and beyond that was the sea voyage. Elrond hoped that his own skill and both his daughter's gifts would aid Frodo, but the pale features within the protection of his cloak made success seem more unlikely with each passing hour.

"Thank you."

Frodo's voice was faint, a little hoarse, as he was carried back into the stairwell, fingers at last managing to clasp the chain and close over the stone, white-knuckled. He began to whisper, as if afraid of anyone hearing.

"I'm . . .I'm terribly . . .thirsty . . .but it's . . .so difficult . . .to swallow . . . Like . . .cotton-wool . . . packing . . .in my throat."

"Once I have you settled I will help you drink a little more of the broth." Elrond looked down into the large eyes, seeing only uncertainty, and paused. Carefully, he sat on the steps, settling Frodo in his lap.

"I have been helping you for two days, as we rode. Let me try once more."

Grey eyes grew hooded, focussed beyond Frodo's features. Reaching down into the large tapestry of his own soul, Elrond teased out some of the strands.

From a young elf, abandoned by both parents he drew out a determination to continue. From a husband, watching his wife board a white ship he drew hope and from a father, dandling a tiny baby girl upon his knee he pulled the love of life. These he wove to form a strong but gossamer thin thread and then he carefully stitched it through the tattered web of Frodo's fea, pulling together some of the wider rents. Perhaps it would hold for a little while. He watched the shining fea.

Barely. The threads held fast . . .but only just. And yet . . .it was enough: Frodo's fair features seemed to regain the slightest hint of pink at the cheekbones, and the fingers clasping the Evenstar loosened slightly.

"I'd . . .if it's . . .all right, I'd . . .really like . . .a drink of . . .water when we . . .get back," confessed the tiny voice. "Just water."

Rising and cradling Frodo within the warm security of his arms, Elrond continued down the winding staircase. "You shall have it." 

Outside the air was clear, and a little cool despite the bright sun. Sam met them at the bottom of the hill and it was the work of only minutes for elf and hobbit to have Frodo wrapped in several blankets and supported against his friend's chest once more. Elrond touched the rim of a cool cup to Frodo's lips and trickled a little water into his mouth . . . his fingers stroking, feather light, at the tiny throat.

Yet the relief evident on Frodo's features lasted only a second. He began to cough, choking as the effort at swallowing failed. The tiny hobbit was too weak even to sip, and struggled unsuccessfully to lean forward, choking as if he might gag. Strong hands caught him, easing him forward and rubbing his back and the fit passed at last, leaving Frodo breathless, blue eyes bright with tears.

"So thirsty," he whispered, beginning to cry softly. "And . . .and yet . . .I can't."

Elrond held him close for a moment, trying to soothe by rocking the tiny frame as he would a child.

"Shhhhh, Little One. Will you let me try another way? Just a few drops at a time, like the medicine."

There was a tiny nod. Frodo sniffled weakly, shivering in Elrond's arms, though already he felt warm to the touch again, the slight fever that had intermittently troubled him returning. "All r-right."

He was returned to the comfort of Sam's waiting arms and Elrond tucked the blankets more closely about him. Dampening a piece of cloth with water from a canteen, he folded it and laid it across Frodo's brow. From the herbal at his side he produced a medicine dropper, which he filled with water.

Elrond touched a finger to the little hobbit's chin, gently prizing open pale lips and a few drops of cool water were slipped onto his tongue, followed by the whisper light touch of fingers at his throat once more. 

Sam watched anxiously, his face lined with worry. Slowly Frodo responded . . .and this time, success: slowly the tiny muscles reacted, and Frodo managed to swallow weakly, taking the water greedily.

Relieved, Elrond settled himself more comfortably at Frodo's side and filled the dropper again. "I will continue until you tell me you have had sufficient, or there is broth if you prefer." A few more drops landed on Frodo's waiting tongue, followed by the touch at his throat.

Beyond them the camp was settling down to rest . . . Bilbo being lead away from the fire to another corner where he was settled in blankets and fell asleep at once. One elf stood guard and, at the fire, two more sat singing softly while they waited for stones to heat to set around Frodo.

The tiny lips curved up in a faint smile . . .Frodo seemed content, and swallowed again, the delicate motion still requiring the aid of Elrond's touch. Sam watched, brown eyes sad, though he continued to support Frodo firmly, keeping the fragile body comfortably propped against his sturdy one.

Yet suddenly Frodo's eyes focused . . .and not on Sam or Elrond, but . . .some point similarly close, and he suddenly blinked, shaking his head.

"No . . .please . . .not yet."

"What is it, Frodo?" Elrond lowered the dropper, placing it back in the cup and laying a hand on his charge's cheek to check the course of the fever. If Frodo heard Elrond's query, he did not respond, merely sinking back, allowing the elven lord to check his temperature. The fever was definite, but not the height one would expect for it to be the cause of such confusion.

"Just . . .just a little . . .longer." Frodo's voice was desperate, pleading, exhausted . . .and at once Sam's eyes took on a pained, anxious expression of recognition. 

"Samwise?" Elrond's face grew concerned, which was enough to worry Sam in itself. "Do you know what he is seeing?"

Frodo's faint voice continued. "Please . . .just a little longer, Smeagol . . .master has to rest a little longer . . .and then I'll . . .I'll be ready . . .to go on."

"He . . .somehow he thinks he's back there." Sam's expression was sad, dark with recognition and sorrow. "In . . .well, I reckon around close to when we were in Ithilien, while that Gollum creature was playin' guide for us. Sometimes he'd try to push on too soon."

The healer had seen this confusion in mortal and elf before and knew that it was a bad sign. A firm but gentle hand turned Frodo's face towards Elrond's. Grey eyes met blue and the elf lord's voice seemed to float into the little hobbit's mind.

"You do not have to move on, Frodo. You can stay here. Stay with us."

This reassurance seemed to calm the Ringbearer: sighing softly, he settled back into Sam's arms, snuggling securely against the familiar shoulder, the comforting arms cradling him close.

"Oh . . .all right, then . . .wake m-me in . . .two hours' time . . .should be . . .rested . . .enough . . .by then." The dark lashes fluttered shut and Elrond gave up any further attempt to feed him. He would wake again later and then he would be given broth and a sedative to see him through the day.

The healer closed his herbal.

"He's not too good, is he, sir?" Elrond looked across at Sam's open and honest face.

"No, Samwise. He is not 'good'" he replied, calmly. 

Sam dropped his head to rest his chin upon the chestnut curls. "You should havestayed at home, Frodo. Me and Rosie would have looked after you . . . tucked you into a soft feather bed and kept you warm and comfortable." He raised his eyes to meet Lord Elrond's once more, a part of him surprised that he could do so. When he had first met the mighty elf he had been unable even to look at his face, let alone lock stares with those ageless and age-filled eyes.

"Can you bring him safe to the Grey Havens? Can you get him across the Sea?" 

Elrond made no attempt to break Sam's gaze. "I believe I can bring him safe to the Grey Havens and I will do all that I can to bring him to the Undy . . . to the West." 

"And will he find healing in the West?" 

"Beyond the boat I cannot say . . . for his healing will not be in my hands."

Sam lowered his eyes and his chin quivered as silent tears slid down his cheeks to anoint his master's curls. "Will there be a soft bed for him on the boat? And feather pillows?"

"Yes, Samwise. And hot water bottles, warm broth and gentle music to lull him to sleep," replied Elrond softly, reaching out to brush a tear from the gardener's face.

"Thank you." Sam kissed the crown of Frodo's sleeping head. "He's fond of his feather beds."

Elrond rose in one fluid movement. "When you judge him to be sleeping deeply enough, lay him down and take some rest yourself. I will send warming stones to lay around him."

True to his word, Elrond returned in a little while with two other elves and some cloth wrapped stones. Fatigue had begun to overtake Sam and his chin had sunk onto his chest. At Elrond's gentle touch on his shoulder he jumped.

"I am sorry, Samwise. I did not intend to startle you. You should sleep, for we have a long journey still ahead of us and then you will have the journey back to the Shire."

Sam rubbed his eyes. "It's alright, Master Elrond, sir. I'm used to looking out for him."

Elrond smiled. "I have no doubt that you are and your loyalty is laudable, but we would like to help. Please allow us this honour. I will watch over Frodo for you."

Sam considered for a moment. Frodo seemed to be sleeping peacefully at last and Lord Elrond and his kin had been very attentive so far. "Thank you, sir. I think I will take a little nap, if you'd be willing to stay with him."

Much to the gardener's embarrassment, Elrond draped a blanket about Sam's shoulders. "Why not lie down here, at his side. Then you will hear if he awakens."

Suddenly feeling very sleepy Sam took his advice, falling into a deep slumber as soon as he did.

TBC


	6. A Scattering of Light

CHAPTER 6 – A Scattering of Light

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For those interested in story construction . . . this chapter is not based upon role play but does hold some direct quotes or paraphrases from Return of the King.

As he had before, Elrond carried a drowsing Frodo for the two-day journey to the Grey Havens, rousing him only long enough to administer medicines or nourishment, and continuing to strengthen the failing body with his own fea; although now he was supported in this task by his kin.

At length they came to Mithlond and the elven lord sent a gentle string of waking song into Frodo's mind. Frodo sighed, his body stretching slightly with returning consciousness, like a kitten awakening from a long nap in the sun. Dark fringed eyelids fluttered for a moment and then opened. Elrond waited a moment, watching the little hobbit trying to piece together where he was and why. With gathering awareness came sadness and the weary cornflower blue eyes sought out Elrond's face.

"How long . . . have I . . . lost this time?" It seemed to the Ringbearer that as his life grew shorter more of it was taken from him in sleep. It was flowing away from him like sand in an hourglass and he was powerless to stop it.

Elrond unhooked a small flask from his saddle pommel and, opening it, put it to Frodo's lips. The little hobbit accepted the cool liquid gratefully, mildly pleased to find that he was able to swallow the Miruvor without needing the healer's assistance . . . although not without some effort. Guessing at Frodo's line of thought, the elf replied succinctly.

"Two days. We are coming to the gates of the Grey Havens and I thought that you may wish to see them." Hooking the strap of the flask over his saddle pommel once more he raised Frodo slowly, pausing when the already pale face blanched. Elrond was about to think better of it and lower him again when Frodo's tiny fist clenched in his sleeve. 

"No . . . please. I . . . want to see. I . . . can do this." He struggled ineffectually to rise and in the end Elrond had to help him for fear that he would exhaust himself in the trying. Finally the Ringbearer sat, still within the shadow of the elf's warm grey cloak and leaning weakly against Elrond's chest with a strong arm supporting his back. What he saw, as far as he was concerned, justified the effort.

On his pony at Elrond's side, Sam looked about in wonder as the folk of Imladris unfurled silken standards; deep sapphire blue with a tiny border of mallorn leaves and stars, the gossamer fabrics whispering as they were caught up by the sea breeze. The folk of Lothlorien carried no standard, merely falling into ranks behind their kin, but the Lady Galadriel came forward to ride with the other Ringbearers. Gildor lead Bilbo's pony, with its nodding occupant to ride behind them, with Sam.

Frodo squinted ahead, towards the dazzle of the tall silver clad gates, their surfaces etched with a device of ships and waves. They were set within a girdle of grey stone wall, delicately crenellated and pierced by archer's slits. At regular intervals standards snapped in the breeze atop slender poles, their fabric embroidered with pale, swan-prowed, ships and the little hobbit could see tall, bow wielding figures walking too and fro atop the walls, sharp elven eyes scanning the horizons. Above all white gulls wheeled in a sky the colour of Elrond's standard. 

A cool breeze flowed towards them, carrying with it the cry of gulls and the smell of seaweed; leaving a salt taste in their mouths. A horn blew somewhere above them and the gates swung slowly inward to admit their party.

Before they could enter, however, a tall, grey clad figure rode towards them. Frodo blinked in confusion, thinking at first that this was a mortal man, but as he drew closer it became clear that he was elven, even though his hair was grey and his beard was longer than Gandalf's.

He sat upon a grey horse before the group, his eyes keen as stars, holding the leaders. Frodo shrank back into the shadow of Elrond's cloak as he met those eyes but they did not linger upon him long, rising to find those of the Lord of Imladris, with questions in their depths. There seemed to be a silent exchange and Sam saw Elrond shake his head slightly as he drew Frodo closer to him. 

Elrond and Galadriel bowed and it was the Lord of Imladris that spoke, his strong voice carrying clearly above the scream of the gulls, riding the thermals above them.

"The Ringbearers seek entry to Mithlond to take ship to the West. Will Cirdan the Shipwright give them passage?"

Cirdan bowed in return, his eyes drifting to the Lady of the Golden Wood. "I will indeed . . . and a welcome to all who have been exiled in this land, far from their home." He turned and with a sweep of his hand, invited them through the wide gates. "All is now ready." And he led the way through the shining portal and into the town.

Mithlond was small, compared to the cities of men. It boasted no tall trees like Lothlorien nor rushing falls like Imladris, yet it had a feel just as ageless and yet ancient as the other elven outposts. 

Its grey stone buildings were low and simple, but each doorway and window boasted a wealth of delicate carving, the style and content echoing those of the Grey Towers. The air was filled with song that soothed the hobbits and made it difficult for them to keep track of time and direction . . . except that they always travelled downward. Then they rounded a corner and suddenly the harbour was before them and, sitting at the dock, a large white ship, its prow shaped in the likeness of a huge swan.

Suddenly Sam cried out and Frodo looked to see what had startled him. Upon the quay, beside a great grey horse stood a figure robed all in white awaiting them. As he turned and came towards them Frodo saw that Gandalf now wore openly on his hand the Third Ring, Narya the Great, and the stone upon it was red as fire. The ancient wizard slapped Sam on the shoulder and looked up at Frodo. But it was Galadriel who spoke first.

"And so now all the Ringbearers are assembled and the tale of the rings of power is ended."

Frodo's slightly breathless voice followed. "Gandalf. Will . . . will you . . . be travelling . . . with us?"

The wizard laid a warm, callused hand upon Frodo's foot. "Indeed I will."

"Well, this will be a pleasant voyage," murmured Bilbo. "How nice to see you Gandalf. We will be able to talk of old times to while away the hours."

Looking behind Elrond, to where the white haired hobbit sat beaming, Gandalf chuckled as he patted a small bag at his belt. "And share a pipe of Old Toby?" If it were possible, Bilbo's smile would have widened.

Any hopes of riding back to the Shire in the company of the old wizard fled Sam's mind and his heart grew heavy, for it seemed to him that he was about to make a very bitter parting and the road home would be very long indeed. True enough, Lord Elrond had said that he could have an escort . . . but elves were not hobbits and Gandalf at least, he had come to know.

Elrond handed Frodo over to Gildor while he dismounted then took him back gently. All about them the rest of the party were dismounting and boarding the pale ship, their horses being led away by Cirdan's people. Elrond settled Frodo upon a sun-warmed bench leaning against a stone wall. 

"I will leave you alone to say goodbye to your friend." He turned and walked off a little way to speak with Cirdan, who was supervising the loading of baggage and last minute provisions.

The sharp-eyed elf nodded to Elrond as he approached. "There is a storm on the way. I can smell it in the air," he advised, matter-of-factly. "If you do not leave on this tide you may have to wait several days for the sea to subside. As it is, you will be hard pressed to run before it."

Elrond scanned the horizon, unable to find any trace of the weather the shipwright predicted but willing to bow to his greater knowledge on these matters. This was not Imladris.

"We cannot wait. We must get Master Frodo from Middle-earth as soon as we may. He is failing and I do not know how long I can hold him."

"Perhaps it would be wiser not to try," Cirdan murmured.

"While there is hope of his healing I will try," Elrond replied, firmly.

Keen eyes, pale as silver, looked long at his companion. "And if he decides to let go? Will you hold him then, against his will?"

Elrond returned the gaze for a long moment and then turned suddenly at the clatter of pony's hooves on cobbles. Up rode Merry and Pippin in great haste. And amid his tears Pippin laughed at Frodo's surprised expression.

"You tried to give us the slip once before and failed, Frodo," he said as he jumped down. "This time you have nearly succeeded, but you have failed again. It was not Sam, though that gave you away this time, but Gandalf himself!"

"Yes," said Gandalf, "for it will be better to ride back three together than one alone. Well, here at last, dear friends, on the shores of the Sea comes the end of the fellowship of Middle-earth. Go in peace! I will not say: do not weep for not all tears are an evil." With those final words, the wizard turned and boarded the waiting ship.

When Frodo did not stand Merry and Pippin reached down and hugged him and then left him alone with Sam. The gardener sat down next to his friend upon the warm stone bench, unsure what to say and unsure whether he would be able to voice it around his tears if he did. A cold hand slipped hesitantly into his, where it lay on his knee and Sam wrapped warm fingers around it tightly.

"I am . . . sorry that I . . . could not . . . stay and watch . . . Elanor grow up . . . into a lovely . . . young maiden. I . . . would have liked . . . that more than anything."

Sam gulped, tears spilling over and running down his face. He could not bear to even look at Frodo. "If you find healing will you come back to us?"

"I am . . . not sure . . . that I will . . . be allowed. But . . . if you want to . . . later . . . you can follow." 

Sam turned to look at his master at last, only to find that his face too, shone with tears. "I'll be there, Mr Frodo. That's a promise."

"Oh, Sam." Frodo disentangled his hand, reaching out his arms weakly, and Sam gathered him to his sturdy chest. Both sat thus, sobbing, for some minutes until the sound of a throat being cleared brought them back to themselves.

"It is time to board, Master Frodo." Elrond stood a few steps away, his face filled with compassion and understanding. He had sat as they before, upon that very bench.

Sam drew away, wiping his face on his sleeve and Frodo wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Stepping forward, Elrond made to lift him but Frodo shrank away. "I will walk." 

Both Sam and Elrond looked as though they would protest but one glance at Frodo's face stopped them. This was the hobbit who had gone on, when all hope was lost . . . and made it to Mount Doom. Elrond nodded and Sam helped his master rise, with a hand beneath his elbow. In the distance Elrond saw Merry and Pippin watching, their brows furrowed in concern as they saw Frodo's plight and Pippin would have rushed forward, but Merry held him back.

With infinite slowness, Frodo walked the few steps to the gangplank, leaning heavily upon Sam. Elrond slipped in front of Frodo, taking both the Ringbearer's hands in his to lead him on to the ship, leaving Sam silent and still upon the dock. As he took his first step onto the deck however, Frodo's knees gave way and Elrond had to scoop him up in his arms once more.

Frodo's head turned, his eyes seeking out those of his friend. "Goodbye . . dear Sam. Be . . . happy enough . . . for both . . . of us."

The gangplank was raised, and the sails were drawn up, and the wind blew, and slowly the ship slipped away down the long grey firth. 

As the harbour mouth faded in the distance, Frodo suddenly fished within the pockets of his coat and drew out the Lady's Starglass. With the last of his failing strength he held up the glass and it flashed forth once, then his hand dropped, the glass falling from nerveless fingers to roll upon the deck as he slumped, unconscious in Elrond's arms. 

The delicate glass vial, which had come through so much danger, finally shattered upon the deck, the water spilling and soaking away, leaving only a faint mark on the wood.

TBC

For those who asked….yes….fea is another word for soul or spirit.


	7. Evenstar

CHAPTER 7 – Evenstar

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Those with an eye to story construction will guess that this chapter is based upon a role-play between Elwen and Frodo Baggins of Bag End.

The bright orange disk of the evening sun had dipped beyond the distant horizon ahead of the ship some hours before and they no longer sailed upon its glittering copper highway.

Ithil rose and made his majestic way across the blue velvet canopy of night, scattering stars in his wake. One star, Earendil, most beloved of all the elves, glowed brightest and its light was reflected in the eyes of the travellers gathered upon the deck.

The night was peaceful, but not silent, for to elven ears, a symphony was being woven. The flutter and crack of canvas sail was underscored by the steady creak of straining ropes and the soft groan of wood. A gentle breeze sighed through the rigging and the splash and hiss of the waves against the prow set a delicate rhythm to the opus. In and about this framework the elves wove their melodies, sometimes in solo or duet and at others in chorus until the ancient wizard sitting in the bow was swept up in dreams of crystal-strewn beaches and many glad reunions.

Bilbo had bid their hosts' goodnight some time ago and was sleeping peacefully in his bunk. The Lady Galadriel was sitting with Frodo for the moment, having relieved Elrond some hours before, giving him instructions to go and eat. He had spent many hours with the little Ringbearer, supporting him with his strength and holding him to this world, but even elven strength fails eventually and he had bowed to the urgings of his wife's mother, knowing that he left Frodo in safe hands.

As he stole down the narrow passageway Elrond could still hear the crystal sound of his companion's voices lifted in song and he smiled as Bilbo's snores rose in ragged counterpoint from a cabin to his left. But, from behind the door at the end of the hallway, there came no sound. 

With ease born of many years tending sick rooms, and lightness that only an elf could have commanded, Elrond entered and crossed to Frodo's bedside. Even in the golden glow of the single candle, burning on the nightstand, the hobbit's face was pale. In an elf, the complexion would not be remarkable but in a hobbit it was worrying, for this was not the pale glow of elven grace but pallor born of great weariness and pain.

For a fleeting moment the healer's memory recalled the many mortal faces he had watched turn pale and still before him, down the ages of his life and a great sadness filled his heart. Yet, even with the damage inflicted by the Ring, Elrond could see a steady glimmer of light within the hobbit's soul. It faltered, like the guttering flame of the candle at his side, but it glowed faintly, still.

Galadriel rose from her seat at the bedside and motioned for Elrond to take her place.

"I believe he is awakening. He seems to have steadied at last." Even as she spoke the dark eyebrows of their patient gathered and his eyelashes fluttered, the tiny body stirring beneath the covers.

To Frodo it was like awakening from a nightmare of drowning to find himself washed up upon a peaceful, sun drenched beach. He was drained but the cessation of strife brought a relief in itself. He could feel a soft mattress beneath his aching body and feather pillows cradled his head. Light but warm blankets were tucked about him and he seemed to be rocking gently, as though lulled in a cradle . . . the sensation supported by the sound of beautiful voices raised in song somewhere nearby. Gradually, he became aware of other voices, familiar and closer, and tried to open his eyes. 

Galadriel slipped from the cabin as Elrond seated himself and watched Frodo's blue eyes drift slowly open. The hobbit groaned when he saw the strange surroundings.

"How long?"

"Two days."

Frodo struggled to sit up and, gathering extra cushions, Elrond added their bulk to the pillows already upon the bed and eased Frodo back into their soft support. 

The healer stepped back, once more, and tried to assess his patient. The thick, chestnut curls were damp with perspiration and one tiny maimed hand still clutched inadequately at Arwen's gem on its silver chain about his neck. Elrond had not failed to notice the way Frodo favoured his left shoulder as he tried to rise and the blue eyes were bright with fever. A fine sheen of perspiration showed at his neck and brow and yet, when Elrond had helped him sit, he had noticed a chill to Frodo's skin, particularly in the left hand. 

All these things the healer registered almost within the blink of an eye but, in case there was ought he missed, he asked, "I can see that you are in some discomfort." He touched fingers to the hobbit's forehead and wrist, finding a pulse too rapid and uneven. "Is the old wound troubling you?"

Frodo relaxed a little at the familiar feather touch and looked up at the elf, trustingly but the eyes that met Elrond's were changed. Even after Weathertop there had been some return to the merry hobbit that had lived in the Shire but his subsequent journey had changed their sunny depths. To Elrond it seemed that, although still clear blue and vividly expressive, they were now sorrowful and haunted. 

"Actually, I feel much better than I was." He tried to move and grimaced. "But yes, my shoulder does hurt a little." He closed his eyes, the simple act of talking drawing more energy than it should. The care given by Elrond and Galadriel, added to the rest in a proper bed, had worked a miracle and Frodo seemed much recovered but he would never be fully healed, unless he were brought safely to the Undying Lands.

Perhaps there, Frodo would find healing but for the moment, the task of ensuring that he reached those shores, still fell to Elrond. He would have to support the Ringbearer as best he could and, for the first time in many centuries, the elven lord did not feel equal to the task.

"Will you let me see the shoulder?"

Frodo nodded weakly and opened his eyes, releasing his grip on the covers and allowing Elrond access to the affected area. "It is only a tiny scar now, of course. I would not have thought it would still hurt so, but then I found it did…sometimes. It grows worse at this time of the year."

With the tenderest of care, Elrond unfastened the pearl buttons of Frodo's nightshirt and slipped back the soft fabric to expose the scar. The mark was indeed small and white, the original knife scar overlaid with more, made by the healer when the young hobbit was brought to him from Weathertop (was it such a short time ago?). The shard of the Morgul blade had been difficult to locate and Elrond had been glad that Frodo had been unconscious throughout the lengthy surgery.

Frodo had reacted violently at Elrond's first touch that night, his tiny body arching off the bed in agony. Brushing the scar now, with tentative fingers, the healer watched for a similar reaction. Although he found Elrond's touch soothing, the cool fingers seeming to bring their own healing, the Ringbearer's shoulder was so sensitive that even the gentlest of touch increased the pain. A soft cry escaped his lips, although he did look up at Elrond, apologetically, and then he seemed to relax a little.

"Forgive me. It hurt so . . . at first . . . though it does feel . . . a little better now."

Having been given permission, the healer laid his fingers a little more firmly upon the fine network of scars. He closed his eyes but his strength was still at a low ebb. He lifted his head and offered a silent prayer to Elbereth for help.

Suddenly, upon the deck above them the music swelled. With a thrill of joy Elrond sent a silent "thank you" to his companions and once more drew upon the offered strength, weaving it with his own healing song and feeding it to the small frame beneath his hand.

Slowly the miniature patient relaxed, the infusion of strength and reassurance soothing his troubled spirit and easing the intense pain running through his body. Gradually he began to breathe more easily, the shivering easing a little. It remained clear, however, that this would only serve as an assuagement to help him bear the illness until stronger hands could heal him.

The song faded and Elrond was alone within himself once more, but at least when he opened his grey eyes they were met by the sight of a less fragile Ringbearer.

Ringbearer…

It was strange that, although the Ring was gone, Frodo was still the Ringbearer in Elrond's mind. Perhaps it was because Frodo still bore the marks of it upon his body and spirit.

Smiling, the elf arose. "Let me see if I can make you a little more comfortable."

Opening his herbal and withdrawing a small vial he poured a few drops into a basin of water, wrung out a cloth and, collecting a towel, returned to the bed.

The scent of lavender hung on the air, blending with the salt tang from the open porthole, and Frodo inhaled deeply, coughing slightly. Elrond remembered that lavender had been something that had soothed the hobbit in the days he had been recovering in Rivendell and Frodo had confided later that the perfume had been a favourite of his mothers.

Drawing aside the nightshirt, Elrond began to lave the small chest and neck, wiping away the sticky perspiration. As he worked, the elf's eyes lit upon the jewel at Frodo's neck and his mind returned to the face of she who had worn it last . . . his little girl, Arwen . . . now a grown lady who had chosen a life of her own; a life far from her kin. Elrond would never see that gentle face again.

His fingers brushed the gem but he could sense no memory of her in its crystal heart, now that they were far beyond the confines of Middle-earth, where it had been wrought. Elrond had only memories of a laughing child, kicking up leaves in an autumn wood, a beautiful maiden in wedding finery, love shining bright in her eyes, and a delicate portrait in his luggage. All his power and might had not been able to prevent her choice or the consequences of it. Now that power and might had gone and so had Arwen. But at least Frodo now travelled to the West in her stead. Elrond hoped that her gift had not been used too late.

Frodo let out a soft, rather contented sigh as Elrond worked. Slowly, he began to uncurl, becoming more comfortable as the soothing lavender-scented water helped to ease his chills. Yet not all the effects of wearing the One Ring were gone and the little Ringbearer was alert to more than his own pain. Feeling Elrond hesitate slightly, as his hand encountered Arwen's gem, Frodo's eyes misted. He spoke, his voice soft and compassionate.

"You miss her, don't you? I wish it had been some other way. She was so kind to me."

"She has chosen her path…as my brother did before her. What father would not want to see his child sharing such a deep love as that between Arwen and Aragorn?" He moved to dry the tiny chest and went on to bathe Frodo's hands and face. "And yet, never to see her again, in all the long ages of the world…that could break a father's heart." There was a slight huskiness to the normally clear and confident voice.

He dried Frodo's hands and, clearing his throat, bent to fasten the buttons on the Ringbearer's nightshirt. The Little One nodded.

"Yes. I know you want her to be happy, but who could not wish that it were not such a choice? I wish that they could have joined us: that some day they might come to the Havens and sail in the last ship, with stories of their children and their children's children." He smiled, softly. "You would have to embrace them for me, for I doubt that I should live long enough to see that day, but I do wish it. She…" Frodo drew another tremulous breath, as if steadying some sorrow himself. 

"There was one night, in Minas Tirith, when I could not sleep. I was feeling ill, like this, and she found me, walking in the gardens. She took me back to my bed and stayed with me. I was so troubled by nightmares. Arwen held my hands and talked to me for hours; we sat facing the window, watching the stars and drinking warm milk until I fell asleep. And she was still there when I awoke the next morning."

His intense gaze found Elrond's, distance fading a little, and the hobbit forced his faraway expression back to the present. "There is something she said to me that I wanted to remember. I wrote it in my journal later and I thought you might want to hear it." 

At a slight nod from the elf, Frodo continued.

"We were watching the star of Earendil, and I asked her how she could bear the thought of being forever separated from you. For some time she was silent, and I almost feared that I should not have asked, thinking that I had hurt her. But then she pointed to that star and smiled a little.

"Of course it grieves me and I regret that it must be thus, when my father has lost so much already," she said. "But he will be with my mother again and I will be with Elessar. And who knows what music may someday be? Whatever comes, I can watch Earendil in the sky and know that my father, perhaps, is watching him too." Frodo waited, so see whether his words would bring comfort or whether they would bring more pain.

Elrond lifted his face to the porthole where, set in the deep blue velvet of the night sky, rode Earendil. A single tear escaped and slid down his timeless face and, within the grey depths of Elrond's eyes were reflected all the years and pains of his long life and something else . . . hope. He turned back to Frodo. 

"Thank you. She never spoke of it to me." Brushing away the tear and swallowing, he took a deep breath and was suddenly the elven lord once more.

TBC


	8. Time and Tide

CHAPTER 8 – Time and Tide

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For those interested in such things . . . the first part of this chapter is based around a role-play between Elwen and Frodo Baggins of Bag End.

"Well, Frodo. Do you think you could manage a little warm milk, this night?"

Frodo nodded, managing the tiniest of smiles. "Yes. Thank you. I think so." His colour seemed a little improved, although he was still too pale.

Elrond left for a few moments, returning with a tray. On it was set a jug, from which steam rose lazily, a large cup and a hobbit sized one and a small vial of clear liquid. The healer set it down on the nightstand and filled the cups with warm milk, adding five drops from the vial to the smallest cup. Handing this to the Ringbearer, Elrond pulled up a chair and took a sip of his own.

Frodo allowed himself another small smile, taking the cup carefully and wrapping his fingers around the warmth. Gratefully, he sipped, rather pleased that for the first time in days he had the strength to hold it unaided.

"Now I see where she gets it from." An amused light brightened his eyes. "Thank you. I'm so glad that you are here."

A smile quirked at one corner of Elrond's lips. "I thought that if it worked once it might work again. I must confess to having cheated a little and added a sedative to your cup, however."

Frodo took another sip, the amusement fading as swiftly as it had come. "Sam and Rosie…. I shall miss them so. They took care of me but they could not …understand about the Ring."

The elf tilted his head to listen to the music, drifting down from the deck above them. One female voice rose strong and clear above the rest for a moment.

"My wife's mother is a very wise lady. She once told me that to be the bearer of a ring of power is to be alone." He glanced down at the large sapphire ring on his finger and then across at Frodo.

"Only someone who has felt the seductive power that such a ring provides can begin to understand how lonely it is to bear and, even then, I can only imagine the depth of torment that you suffered." Compassionate grey eyes looked deep into troubled blue ones. "I hope that you find the healing that you seek, Frodo." He did not voice the fear that they both felt . . . that it was still possible that he would not even have the strength to reach the West.

Frodo nodded, sombrely, sipping a little more. "I hope so too." Even now the sedative was beginning to work, gently allowing the Ringbearer to express fears that he had been holding tight within himself for many months. "What if this journey is in vain? What if . . ." His voice quavered. "What if… because I claimed the Ring at the end… because I lost the battle. What if there is no healing for me?" His blue eyes were bright again, but this time with tears, welling afresh, unshed.

Silent for a moment, Elrond continued sipping his milk and considered carefully what he should say next. When he spoke his voice was soft.

"Yours was but a part of the tale of the Ring, Frodo. Perhaps the task of its destruction was never intended to be yours. You were the Ringbearer, but it was Gollum who was the Ringdestroyer and, perhaps it was always intended to be thus. Gandalf tells me that he hinted as much to you, once." He shook his head and smiled at the small figure, lost among the pillows. "Do not be so hard on yourself."

The little hobbit looked up at him, still close to tears. At last, trembling, he reached shyly for Elrond's hand. "The elves have lost so much too. It makes me sad to think that one day there will be none of your people in Middle-earth. You brought such grace and beauty to the world."

Elrond shook his head, his grey eyes shuttered to hide any emotion. "We brought a great deal of pain and anger, too. You give my people too much credit . . . and yet . . . perhaps it was all a part of the great song. Every high note must stand against a low or there will be no melody."

Frodo smiled, his gaze distant once more. "I remember Bilbo taking me to see my first elves. They were on their way to the Havens." He blinked his eyes back to the present. "I never thought that we would be travelling that way too, one day."

He grimaced as he neared the bottom of the cup of milk and encountered a stronger mouthful of the sedative. "I was looking forward to being with Bilbo, once more. When I was younger he always seemed to know what I was feeling. When I came back to Rivendell…afterwards . . . I tried to talk to him about the journey. I tried to tell him what I had been through…but he did not seem to understand." He swallowed a sob. "He did not seem to even want to know."

"It is the gift of Illuvatar to your people, Frodo; to age and pass from this world. Bilbo has seen much and it is now his time to fade. He may find some respite in the Undying Lands but he will succumb to the inevitable in due time. It is the way his soul was sung."

This time a sob did escape the Ringbearer's lips. "I had hoped that he would be with me in Eldamar. I so needed him to be there…I am not sure that I can be alone." He tried to take another sip but his hands shook.

Elrond steadied his grip and encouraged him to finish the milk, taking the cup from his grasp when it was drained. "Your healing is not depended upon Bilbo, nor will you ever be alone. There are many on this ship who care for and will not abandon you." The elf laid a hand upon Frodo's cheek and wiped a tear from his face with a thumb. "You will never be forsaken."

Frodo would not be consoled, however, and his tears increased, the sedative loosening the last of his restraints. Elrond's heart grieved for him. He was so alone…so hurt and too young to have endured such pain.

The healer leaned forward, slipping an arm behind the shuddering form and drawing Frodo to rest against him, holding him close, as he would a child waking from nightmares. "Sshhhhhhh…. Little One." He stroked the damp curls of Frodo's head, where it rested against his chest. Slowly his sobbing eased, his breathing improving, eased by the touch of gentle warm hands.

Waiting patiently for the tears to subside and hoping that the sedative would soon complete its work, the healer rubbed his hand in soothing circles on the little back. Beneath the nightshirt, he knew, were the ragged white scars of the marks of a whip, and he sighed. Was there one part of the tiny creature that did not bear the marks of the terrible journey he had endured?

Almost without realising that he had opened his mouth, Elrond began to sing…an ancient song of starlight and peace, sunlight on flower strewn meadows…a song he remembered Celebrian singing to their children when they were no larger than the being cradled in his arms this night.

It had been many years since he had raised his voice in song and, about the ship, others stilled. And as if Celebrian's fea were already waiting eagerly to welcome her husband, after such a long separation, the song seemed to enchant…what power Elrond had lost with the fading of Vilya minor in comparison to the power his hands still held, for the gentle rubbing calmed the fragile Ringbearer. Slowly, the sobs eased, beginning to fade as the medicine…both that in the milk and that in Elrond's voice…soothed Frodo to sleep.

Yet, sleep did not come all at once, and Frodo merely drowsed at first…still sufficiently awake to rest gratefully in the elven-lord's arms, much as Arwen once did.

And as sleep overtook him, there was something else…a hint of another song in Elrond's mind …. so tiny and delicate that it must have been Frodo's own. Yet it was mingled with two others, familiar ones to Elrond. The first, woodsy and warm with evergreen and Athelas…the second, soft and sweet as honey and music, the gloaming twilight blended into liquid darkness sprinkled with stars.

"Wear this in memory of Elfstone and Evenstar, with whom your life has been woven…"

And indeed, the injured hand clutched the white gem, even in slumber, as Frodo finally rested in Elrond's arms.

0o0

Frodo cried out as he felt himself falling, his eyes flying open in alarm even though strong hands pressed him to the bunk. He looked up, seeking out a familiar face and finding Elrond.

For a moment he thought that his dizziness had returned with a vengeance for everything seemed to be in motion and he clutched the edge of the bunk with one hand and sought out Elrond's wrist, where it secured his shoulder, with the other.

"What . . . what is . . . happening?" he gasped.

Elrond grimaced. "The storm that we had hoped to outrun has overtaken us. Do not worry, Frodo. This ship will weather it, although things may be a little uncomfortable for a while."

Uncomfortable . . . Frodo swallowed against rising nausea. That had to be one of Elrond's famous understatements. Aragorn had once confided in him that if the world had suddenly come to an end he believed that his foster father would have said that it was simply an untimely event.

Frodo scrambled to sit up as he lost the battle with his stomach and, noting his distress, Elrond helped him . . . slipping a bowl beneath the little hobbit's chin as he was violently sick. When the fit had passed he gave him water to rinse and settled him back on his pillows, wiping the pale face with a cool damp cloth.

From his herbal the healer removed two bottles measuring, with some difficulty in the swaying ship, a spoonful from each into a cup and adding a little water. He lifted Frodo's sweat damp head and put the rim to his lips but his patient tried to pull away.

"No, please. I will . . . be sick . . . again."

Elrond still held the cup, however. "It is something to settle your stomach and help you sleep. It would be better if you slept through the storm."

But Frodo could not be persuaded and when the cup was touched to his lips he clenched his mouth shut. Elrond lowered him back into the support of his pillows and put the sedative aside, his face filled with questions. Frodo swallowed and tried to explain.

"No more . . . sedatives . . . please. I feel . . . so little . . . time. I . . . don't . . . want to . . . lose any . . . more."

"Will you take something for your stomach, then?" Elrond asked.

Frodo's answer was forestalled by a particularly violent wave that made the ship dip down and then rise as steeply up, it's prow landing with a loud thump as it settled in the water again at the top. Frodo paled again and Elrond supported him, as he was sick once more. When it was over the healer prepared another cup and offered it.

"This is just something to ease your stomach. No sedative, I promise. Although I still believe that you would conserve your strength better if you slept."

Frodo made to roll his head in denial but thought better of it when the movement redoubled the feeling of nausea. "No sedative."

A gentle hand cupped his head and the drink was offered. "No sedative . . . you have my promise, Little One." 

Frodo's pale lips parted and allowed his carer to pour a little of the mint flavoured concoction into his mouth. He swallowed tentatively, but accepted the second mouthful more readily when he felt the first begin to act immediately as it landed in his roiling stomach. He sighed in relief when Elrond returned him to the cradle of his pillows but had to clutch the side of the bunk as the boat breached once more.

"How long . . . will this . . . go on?" Frodo was perspiring and yet shivering at the same time, unable to decide whether he wanted to pull the covers closer or push them away.

Elrond continued to try and hold him in the bunk. "The sailor's say it will blow itself out in about ten hours more. You really should let me administer a sedative."

"No." Frodo's brows suddenly drew together in concern. "Bilbo. He will . . . be ill too."

Elrond shook his head. "I gave him a sedative and something to ease his stomach an hour ago. The Lady Galadriel watches over his sleep."

"Thank you. You . . . you are all . . . so kind."

"It is no more than you deserve," the healer replied, refreshing the cool compress on Frodo's brow. He took an extra blanket, folding it into a strip, laying it across the bunk at Frodo's waist and tucking it firmly under the mattress at both sides. 

And so thus they rode through the storm, listening to the wind howl in the empty rigging and feeling the pounding lurch as the ship breached, their strained faces caught in the flickering glow of the swaying lantern hanging from the cabin ceiling.

Towards dawn the storm began to abate and Frodo sank into exhausted slumber, the dark circles about his eyes testimony to the energy spent in a body that had little enough to spare to begin with. The elven healer remained faithfully at his side until relieved by Gandalf, the wizard threatening to feed him a dose of his own sedative if he did not retire to his bunk.

TBC


	9. Sunset

CHAPTER 9 – Sunset

__

For those interested in story construction . . . this chapter is built around a role-play between Elwen and Frodo Baggins of Bag End.

Elrond had taken up his station at Frodo's bunk once more. As soon as he awoke he had returned to the cabin, now refusing all offers to relieve him of his vigil. It was clear to him that a crisis was near and he would let no one else take the responsibility of seeing Frodo through it to whatever lay upon the other side. Leaning forward, he blotted the pale features with a damp cloth as he sensed the first stirrings of consciousness returning. 

Gandalf had left only half an hour ago, the ancient wizard a silent and welcome support after the befuddled and drowsing Bilbo. Frodo's uncle had insisted on sitting vigil for some hours, aware at last that something was very wrong with his heir, but still having difficulty understanding how the situation had occurred. He seemed convinced that Elrond would be able to simply pull out some magical vial of liquid and make it all come right. The healer sighed, wishing it were so.

The golden rays of a late afternoon sun strayed through the small porthole, giving Frodo's face a false warmth of colour and, noting the dark brows draw together in a frown, Elrond moved his chair so that his shadow fell across his charge's face. The frown faded, although the elf could see the beginnings of permanent lines on the young hobbit's face. He stroked his fingers across the faint creases on the pale brow. The lines on mortal faces had always fascinated, but it saddened him to touch the evidence of so much pain in so few years of life and he hid the disturbing sight away beneath a folded compress.

Yet even this gentle, feather-light touch did not escape the tiny hobbit's attention: waking, he stirred weakly, breath quickening as the heavy eyelashes fluttered against waxen cheekbones. Slowly the blue eyes opened, seeking some familiar point of reference as Frodo blinked uncertainly, confusion in his gaze.

"Good evening, Frodo. How are you feeling now?" Even as he asked the question, Elrond was not hopeful of the answer. Would he manage to help Frodo to hold fast to life until they reached the virtue of the Undying Land? Even the name of that land taunted Elrond now.

"Thirsty. . .so thirsty. . . ."

Answering half as one in sleep, or in some daze, Frodo suddenly shifted restlessly, attempting to sit up, the effort causing him to blanch as he struggled to succeed. There was an odd desperation to his attempt, his brow furrowing back into a slight frown as the compress slipped. Firm but gentle hands caught both hobbit and compress although the healer made no attempt to force Frodo back into his pillows.

"What is it? I can give you something to drink Little One, but you should rest."

"I-I-I think that. . .that place in the rocks, a. . .a little way b-back. . . . We c-could. . .refill the b-bottles again. . . ."

Frodo's back was wet with perspiration, his clothing soaked through with icy sweat and his speech faded to an intent murmur, blue eyes darkening as he struggled against Elrond's gentle touch.

"Come on - I'm all right, really - I - I just n-need some more water and. . .and a few minutes' rest. . . ."

"We have water, Frodo. Here..." Elrond touched a cup to the little hobbit's lips, trying to soothe him until the confusion faded. It was a symptom with which he was all to familiar in those reaching the last fading chorus of their song. "Rest for a little while longer. You need not hurry."

The water had an immediate effect: Frodo drank as one parched, putting both hands around the cup Elrond held, sipping greedily at the cool liquid. Within his breast, the elf's heart ached as he watched the delicate and sparkling vision that was Frodo Baggins, nephew to Bilbo, fading like a fine silken tapestry hung too long in the strong sun.

"We'll. . .we'll need to. . .fill up again before. . .before we go on. . . . I-I was. . .was shown maps in. . .in Rivendell. . .but. . .I don't know. . . ."

"Do not worry about the water, Little One. We have plenty. Sip it more slowly. There is plenty of time." The words were murmured softly, Elrond's voice warm and compassionate. "Your task is completed and you can rest here. You are safe."

The voice finally took effect, and Frodo suddenly folded against his caregiver, sinking against the elven lord and slowing his sips just a little. After a moment, the blue eyes gazed back up at Elrond's ageless features, more weary than bemused.

"That's. . .that's right, isn't it? I. . .I don't know what I thought. . . ." He continued to drink steadily, draining the cup in parched mouthfuls.

"You were dreaming, perhaps," Elrond soothed. He settled on the edge of the bunk, supporting Frodo against him as he put the empty cup aside and lifted a small alabaster bottle. "Time for a little more medicine."

Groaning, Frodo started to shake his head, but stopped the motion at once, thinking better of it as his world began to spin. "No. . .please, no more medicine. . . . Can't I have a little more to. . .to drink, please? I'd rather have something to drink. . . ."

"It is a tincture of lily of the valley and it will strengthen you. I have given it to you before . . . Please take it." The elven healer found it more difficult than he had ever known to keep concern from tingeing his voice.

"The Lady Galadriel has left a berry cordial for you if you would like some afterwards to cover the taste."

"No sedative?" Frodo's weakening resolve evidenced itself in his voice, and he eyed his caregiver less warily now, the offer seeming to calm him a little. "I'd . . .I'd like that cordial . . .please . . . I'd take it for that, so long as . . .no sedative. Don't . . .want to lose . . .any more . . .hours . . .than I must"

Golden beams of sunlight scrambled obliquely over the rim of the porthole, dipping and rising upon the wall above Frodo's bunk, moving higher with each minute that passed. They gave no warmth to the Ringbearer's features now though, and Elrond touched the tiny bottle to lips too pale.

"No sedative, Frodo. And after the cordial I will bathe you and carry you up on deck to watch the sunset if you wish. This will be special evening for with the dawn we reach our destination."

"That sounds wonderful . . .I should like that . . .please . . .if you don't mind."

Prompt compliance: Frodo sipped weakly, swallowing the medicine with a slight grimace . . .but he nearly choked, wincing a little, the swallowing motion seeming to half-weaken at the last moment. A large but gentle hand rubbed his back and Elrond waited for Frodo to recover before offering the cup of golden liquid.

"Ready?" he asked. "It is a cordial made from the orgilia berry that grows only in the woods of Lothlorien."

A tiny nod . . .and Frodo sipped slowly, his throat moving weakly as he drank, smiling a little at the taste.

"Mmmmmmm . . .oh, this is what she gave us . . .what . . .what Haldir brought . . .from her . . .that first night . . .when I was . . .so tired . . .and we were all so . . .still grieving . . .about . . .Gandalf . . . She remembered . . . I liked it."

Elrond's hand moved from Frodo's back so that he was supported now by the elf's arm and soft fingers rested against the perspiration slicked throat, moving to aid when needed. Elrond's smile mirrored Frodo's, his voice growing wistful.

"It was Celebrian's favourite too. Whenever anyone travelled to Lothlorien from Imladris she would make them promise to bring some back with them."

"I would . . .like very much . . .to . . .meet her." Frodo's voice was faint, though he smiled a little, taking careful sips with Elrond's assistance. "She sounds . . .very special, and . . .and everyone has . . .said that we . . .we might enjoy . . .meeting."

"I think she would understand your trials, for she too was wounded beyond help in Middle Earth and came West to find healing. I have always hoped that she found it although no word comes from the West to Middle Earth so I have only that hope. But I believe I would know if she did not."

"I am sure you would . . .you would feel it." The hobbit swallowed the last mouthful, though not without difficulty, and settled against his caregiver's arm, snuggling weakly. He shivered, yet continued to sweat; a fresh sheen of icy perspiration glimmering on his features.

"Half of me wants . . . to push the covers off . . . and half to pull them up," he managed at last, forcing a tremulous laugh.

"You are quite weak . . . the storm . . . Perhaps if I bathe you with warm water . . . and then take you for some fresh air it will make you feel a little better."

Putting down the empty cup, the healer pushed back damp curls from Frodo's brow as he supported him easily with his other arm. It was fortunate that the little hobbit did not look up at that moment for ancient eyes were filled with sadness as the healer noted one more unravelling thread in the tapestry of Frodo's life.

"Thank you . . .yes, I . . .I was afraid of . . .of waking up to . . .more of . . .of that." Frodo's voice grew faint, and he shuddered. "I don't think I could . . .could bear being so sick again just now."

"The seas will be calm here for we are coming within the influence of the Blessed Realm. There will be no more storms . . . already the swell has diminished."

Snuggling against Elrond's arm, the Ringbearer sighed, looking even smaller. Suddenly he blinked, eyebrows shifting slightly as he looked up at Elrond curiously.

"Please . . .do you think it might be possible for . . .for me to have a drop of . . .just a little apple juice? Not now, but . . .when we go up? While we watch the last sunset? At . . .when I was in Rivendell, both times, I used to have that . . .every evening . . .as I did at home, before . . .warmed apple juice with cinnamon . . .or mulled cider."

"Warmed apple juice with cinnamon? I am sure I can arrange that," Elrond smiled down at him, hiding his grief behind grey eyes as warm as a summer shower. "Let me get that water ready and give someone instructions for your drink."

He lowered Frodo back into his pillows and crossed to the door where one of Lady Galadriel's people had been stationed in case anything was needed. Returning to the bedside Elrond filled a basin with warm water, adding a few drops of oil of sandalwood and some athelas.

The fragrance filled the cabin, and Frodo sighed comfortably, settling into the pillows. His tiny lips seemed slightly tinged with a hint of blue, in keeping with the dusky cast beginning to replace his pallor.

"Thank you . . .that's . . .my favourite." For a moment, the heavy fringe of eyelashes fluttered, as if Frodo's eyes might close, but he looked up at Elrond, watching quietly for some minutes before speaking again.

"Bilbo will . . .be all right now, won't he? He'll . . .have some peace . . .I mean, and . . .and die a very free, very old hobbit?"

"He will, indeed. He will be cared for as he was in Rivendell and all remaining shadow of the Ring will be washed away, I promise you." Nimble fingers unfastened the buttons of Frodo's nightshirt and then eased him out of the damp linen.

"Good."

"Would you like me send word for him to join us on deck later?"

"Yes . . .yes, please . . .I would like that very much." Frodo smiled, relief flooding the vivid blue eyes. Elrond noted that his hands and feet seemed chilled, cold to the touch, though he no longer shivered . . . one more unravelling strand. "That will be nice . . .I should like to . . .to see him again . . .just now . . ."

The healer paused for a moment, his eyes growing distant and a low female voice dropped into his mind. "It is done, child."

There were few that could call Elrond, "child" and he found it somewhat comforting that Galadriel was journeying with them and at the same time something within him laughed at the very thought of finding Galadriel's presence comfortable. Wringing out a cloth in the basin he began to lave Frodo's tiny body, pale and chill as liquid marble. Using his touch to push a little of his own strength into the flesh, Elrond could already feel the edges of the gauzy fabric of Frodo's fea beginning to fray. And a slow rent appeared . . . steadily growing like old silk stretched too tightly. 

Frodo remained quiet now, allowing Elrond to bathe him without protest or restless fidgeting, seeming distant, his voice half-distracted.

"What are they like, . . .the Undying Lands? Does anyone know?"

The lowering sun fell warm on Elrond's back as his hands moved gently but confidently in a dance so often practised in sick rooms down the centuries that his thoughts could focus elsewhere. He bathed and dried the small body as one part of his mind was desperately trying to slow the tearing . . . only one more night . . . yet another part knew that the task was hopeless now. And all the while his voice remained calm and clear.

"Think of an old portrait, its varnish darkened with age, the colours muddied. That is Middle earth. But in the Undying Lands there is no veil of varnish. Colours are brighter. The air is as clear as the breezes that blow across the gorse covered heath and it smells as pure as the most carefully distilled oils. The land is as pristine as it was at the moment that Illuvatar sang it into being."

"Ah . . ." The blue eyes closed, Frodo resting as he listened. "It sounds wonderful . . .I cannot think of a more beautiful place to rest . . . I do wish I could see it . . ."

There were a few moments of quiet, save for his quick little breaths, slightly ragged breathing coming from the small chest. In those moments and with those simple words Elrond knew that Frodo had decided which path he was destined to take beyond the crisis . . . had decided it was time to let go. The Ringbearer's next words were no surprise, therefore.

"There are . . .letters. In my pack. For Bilbo, and . . .for Sam . . .and . . . a few others."

"I will see that they are delivered." The elf made no attempt to deny the inevitability of the situation, for which Frodo was very grateful. Finding a fresh nightshirt, Elrond simply clothed his charge and wrapped him in a warm soft blanket. "Are you ready to see that sunset?"

Golden shafts of sunlight were turning to copper upon the wall as Frodo answered. "Yes . . .I am ready."

There was a strange sureness in Frodo's voice, a tone much like that Elrond first heard in the Council, so many months ago, in the notes which said, "I will take the Ring . . .though I do not know the way."

And yet the Ringbearer simply nestled weakly against Elrond's chest, settling gratefully into the blanket. With infinite tenderness he was cradled in the elven lord's arms and carried from the cabin, along the companionway and up into the glow of closing day.

At the stern of the ship, Gandalf stood with several elves but Elrond turned to the prow and the huge copper disc of the sun, now kissing the horizon beneath a bank of purple cloud carrying the presage of rain. 

Before the rail, two chairs had been set, one small and lower than the other. And at the rail stood a diminutive figure. Elrond walked towards him and Bilbo smiled up at them although his eyes held a presage similar to the clouds. It would seem that he, at last, was fully aware of what was happening to his nephew.

"Hello, Frodo my lad. It's a lovely evening." His voice held a bright and brittle tone, a mere echo of its former self, as he offered a cup to Elrond. If Frodo noticed the fragility he gave no outward sign and fairly beamed, his smile soft and fragile in the bronze-coppery gold of the waning sun.

"Yes, it is, Uncle . . .very lovely indeed. I am glad we could . . .enjoy it . . .together."

His breath caught a little, and he looked to Elrond for a sip. A cup of warm cinnamon apple juice was offered before the elf lowered himself gracefully into a chair, settling Frodo in his lap, and the ancient hobbit folded his stiffening limbs into his. Bilbo took the opportunity of Frodo's distraction to dab at his nose and eyes with a bright red hanky.

"If I remember rightly, the last time we shared a sunset, the three of us, it was in Rivendell just before you returned to the Shire, Frodo lad."

Only Elrond noticed how fragile the motion of Frodo's throat seemed: the tiny hobbit sipped thirstily, but weakly, drinking with caution. Yet he managed a smile, watching his uncle with luminous blue eyes that seemed too large in such a small face . . .and somehow very far away.

"Your memory . . .hasn't failed you . . .there . . .it was indeed . . ." A moment's pause, and the soft, clear voice continued.

"And Bag End . . .isn't with the . . .Sackville-Bagginses . . .any longer . . .and I did . . .write down . . .the whole story. . . . After all, you did . . .teach me to . . .keep my . . .promises . . .didn't you?"

"That I did. And I am glad that you finished my book." Bilbo cleared his throat; all too aware that if he had nor raised his nephew with such a strong sense of duty he would not by lying in Elrond's arms now. He turned his attention to the sun, no longer a perfect disk, as it was devoured by the hungry horizon.

The elf offered tiny sips of juice, his fingers hovering at Frodo's throat. Elrond's voice was calm and quiet as his inner mind watched, unhindering, the slowly unravelling fibre of Frodo Baggin's life; the small Ringbearer's mithril thread entwining with the fading copper of the sunset.

"I am pleased that you wrote down your story, Little One. All should know the price that must be paid for peace."

As it passed his own fea the elf stroked it in gentle benediction and the silvery mithril filament caught slightly, as if in farewell embrace. . . .

"I only wanted to . . .keep my promise . . .and . . . leave something for . . .the others to remember it all . . .by." Frodo continued sipping, assisted by Elrond, appreciatively taking little mouthfuls of juice.

"It wasn't only . . .my story, after all. It was . . .too many people . . .to let it go. . . . Sam promised to . . .have copies . . .for . . .Merry and Pippin, for . . .Great Smials. . .and Buckland. . .and . . .to be sent . . .to Aragorn . . .and Eomer. . .and . . .Faramir. . . "

Another weak swallow. "My shoulder's warm now . . .comfortable. It doesn't hurt at all . . .nice and warm . ."

From the stern a chorus of fair voices floated on the air in a familiar tune . . . 

"Still round the corner there may wait

A new road or a secret gate,

And though we pass them by today,

Tomorrow we may come this way

And take the hidden paths that run

Towards the Moon or to the Sun.

Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,

Let them go! Let them go!

Sand and stone and pool and dell,

Fare you well! Fare you well!

Home is behind, the world ahead,

And there are many paths to tread

Through shadows to the edge of night,

Until the stars are all alight.

Then world behind and home ahead,

We'll wonder back to home and bed.

Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,

Away shall fade! Away shall fade!

Fire and lamp, and meat and bread,

And then to bed. And then to bed."

The voices faded but Frodo felt Elrond's chest move as he drew breath and a strong and slightly deeper voice sang out alone into the fading day.

Still round the corner there may wait

A new road or a secret gate;

And though I oft have passed them by,

A day will come at last when I

Shall take the hidden paths that run

West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

Moon and Star, Sky and Sun

Though I may fade, will not be done.

Flower and tree, water and loam

I'll join you all when I come home.

A soft sigh escaped the Little One's lips. "When I come home . . ." he murmured, almost-drowsily. "When I come home . . ."

Blue eyes fluttered closed, half-reopening to look up at Elrond. "Please . . .give Lady Celebrian my regards . . .and the others."

Frodo's eyes closed once more, his breathing slowing, growing increasingly shallow. No longer able to hold back his tears, Bilbo pressed his handkerchief to his mouth to muffle his sobs and Gandalf came to stand behind him, laying a strong hand upon the small hunched shoulders. The wizard's kindly blue eyes met Elrond's then looked down at the small bundle in the elven healer's arms. 

No more healing could be done now. The fabric was in tatters . . . like a spider's web after a storm . . . and Lord Elrond of Imladris, son of Earendil, took one of Frodo's tiny cold hands in his. "It will be my honour, Frodo Baggins of the Shire."

Three miniature fingers, slender and once-nimble, curled around Elrond's as the little hobbit's breathing grew ragged . . .then evened, further slowing into a peaceful, even rhythm . . .

. . .and slowed. . .

and stopped.

The tiny mithril thread of song flickered, extinguished.

Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo, Ringbearer, lay motionless in the elven lord's arms, his hand still clasping Elrond's, as the last copper shimmer of sunlight faded into twilight.

And as the last trailing notes of Frodo's song sped past Elrond's fea the elf reached out . . . gathering a few notes from his own symphony he entwined them in the mithril thread and plucked a small string of melody from Frodo, weaving it into his own opus. Bending down, Elrond placed a soft kiss upon the cooling brow and then laid a hand upon his own breast.

"You will not be forgotten, Frodo. You will never be forgotten."

And a voice was raised in song . . .a single clear, dark soprano voice . . .Galadriel, singing a soft dirge.

It came to pass, in years that later came, that those who saw this said she wept. Others gave no such report. But it was said by those who had seen Valinor in its glory that the melody was one they had heard there after the Darkening of the Trees, and as such was of a sadness that Middle-earth had never heard before or since. 

As if the world itself wished to join in the mourning the dark clouds finally released their burden, washing all in their soft fall of tears. 

TBC.


	10. Coming Home

CHAPTER 10 – Coming Home

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For those interested in the writing process . . . this chapter does not contain any role-play but does contain direct quotes or paraphrases from Return of the King.

Elrond stood at the bow, the warm rain blowing, unheeded, in his face and a soft breeze, filled with a sweet fragrance filling his nostrils and whipping wet tendrils of dark hair about his features. Above him, clouds hid the stars of Elbereth, although his heart told him that they were still there, somewhere.

Suddenly voices rose in song behind him and Elrond turned towards the stern, where his fair companions raised a joyful anthem. For a moment it seemed incongruous to him as, at the very centre of the ship, his eyes fell upon the canopy, formed by the flag of his own household, suspended above the small shrouded figure lying on a pile of rich cushions. 

At Frodo's side knelt his Uncle Bilbo. The elves had offered him a chair when it became clear that he would not leave but he had refused even that and his ancient bones were now supported by Gandalf's strong arm about his shoulders.

Elrond did not need to step closer to see the Ringbearer. Elven eyes needed no assistance to see Frodo's alabaster features. They had tried to cover his face at first but Bilbo would have none of it. He wanted Frodo to see the Blessed Realm. It mattered not to him that the thickly lashed lids were drawn closed.

The breeze played with the dark curls framing Frodo's face, even teasing at his eyelashes so that it seemed, if one did not study too long, that his lids were flickering in dreams and would soon open once more to reveal sparkling eyes the colour of warm summer skies.

Galadriel and her ladies had lovingly stitched the pure white shroud and attached to it, upon his breast, were some small squares of patchwork fabric . . . one with blue primula placed directly over his heart.

Fair voices changed song and Elrond's heart let go its burden as their words turned the key to his grief . . .

Still round the corner there may wait

A new road or a secret gate;

And though I oft have passed them by,

A day will come at last when I

Shall take the hidden paths that run

West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

Moon and Star, Sky and Sun

Though I may fade, will not be done.

Flower and tree, water and loam

I'll join you all when I come home.

Home. Frodo had known, near the end, that he would not see the Undying Land. But he had also known that he was going home. Illuvatar could not have sung such a loving and true-hearted being as Frodo Baggins into life to discard him at the end. Elrond knew that the Creator had made a place for elves, so why not for hobbits? 

The elven lord looked once more at Frodo's pale face. Peaceful. The features were relaxed, the pale lips bowed in a soft smile. 

"Safe journey, Frodo Baggins of the Shire," the former Lord of Imladris whispered as he turned back to the prow. 

The grey rain curtain turned to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise. And Elrond heard the sound of singing coming from over the water, blending with the voices of his companions.

EPILOGUE

In the corner of a sunny meadow a lone figure knelt amongst a sea of wild flowers. Before him rested three small marble markers . . . the only three of their kind in this Undying Land.

A long fingered hand gently wiped away the dust on their polished surfaces. No moss was allowed to gather here. Simple words were carved deep into the pale stone.

On the stone to the right were the words, "Bilbo Baggins, Uncle". On the one to the left were carved the words, "Samwise Gamgee, Friend". And on the small stone in the centre, nestled between the two most dear to him in life, were graven the words,

"Frodo, Son of Drogo, Ringbearer."

THE END


End file.
